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3 ) 


THE 

WOODEN BOTTLE. 


JAS. H. DENNIS, 

Author of ^^AndrewJ* 




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CONTENTS 


PAGE. 


Chapter I ------- 5 

The Gypsies. 

Chapter II - - - - . - - - 16 

Katrina 

Chapter III -21 

- 

When the Tale was Doubled, Moses Came. 

Chapter IV- 37 

V 

.4 J. Johnstone Kent, Attorney. 

Chapter V 48 

The Leathern Crocodile Opens His Mouth. 

Chapter VI--- 66 

“Auld Robin Gray.” 

Chapter VII ---62 

Dan Welsh. 

Chapter VIII .-- - 75 


The Leathern Crocodile Snaps His Jaws. 


'X 


CONTENTS Continued, 

0 - 

Chapter IX 89 

Love and Gold. 

Chapter X', 107 

“The Queen of the Sky.” 

Chapter XI ----- 124 

The Flight. 

Chapter XII 151 

The Return of the Fugitive.s. 

Chapter XIII 154 

A Slight Error in Reckoning. 

Chapter XIV 159 

A Final Test. 

Chapter XV - - - 163 

Unnegotiable Paper. 


f 



OST child ! Lost child ! ! 
boy, eight; girl, six; bare- 
footed; chip hat, green-lined; red 
hood, gray dress; ten dollars! — 
Lost child I ” wailed the town child 
hunter. He stopped to ring his 
copper cow-bell, on the spine of 
Beach Ridge; while his white horse 
bit at the rank clovertops and but- 
tercups that interlaced about his 
knees, and over-arched the two ribbon-like tracks, very 
much as the road itself, a little farther down the spine, 
was over-arched, by the great maples and pines of the 
forest, hiding itself away in the gloom that was un- 
broken, until it reached the settlement, far away at 
the Red House Port, on the shore of the great lake. 

The old negro bellman, in his faded blouse, his blue 


5 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


overalls, his heavy army shoes and gray slouched hat sat 
on his gaunt white horse, saddled with a fragment of 
patched quilt,, with yellow and red crescents and 
diamonds, bound with a single girdle of twisted hay, 
they made a rich silhouette relief against that summer 
evening sky, of old gold and madder mist ; while 
from the dark clovertops, clear-cut against the sky, 
at the horse’s knees, descended a roof of dark-brown 
forest tops that far away to the north broke into a 
disordered line of pine and crag against the broad lake, 
that shone like a mighty laver of molten opals,_till at 
the horizon, it was curtained by the dark empurpled 
mists of the approaching twilight. 

The tinkling of a cow bell, at the edge of the forest, 
was the only answer to the dismal proclamation, that 
the old man had incessantly cried all that day for the 
sum of one dollar ; until suddenly, from a brown rock 
another silhouette shot up against the sky. This was 
a large man, with a square, heavy-featured face ; 
brown skin, black hair, short, curly side whiskers 
glistening with oil, with copper ear rings and steel 
charms. He wore a tall-crowned, snuff-colored hat ; 
brown, cotton-velvet jacket, and corduroy trousers 
stuffed in thick-soled boots smeared with tallow. 

“Halloo you old crow ! Croak again about the gold 
for the lost kids,” said the gypsy. 

The negro, frightened at the sudden apparition of 
the lost Israelite, mechanically wailed : 

“Lost child ! Lost child ; ten dollars ! ” 

“You are on the wrong trail, up here in these parts, 
‘Old Uncle Ned,’ but where can I get my ten dollars, 
if I tell you where I saw a little girl, with gray dress 
and red hood, this very forenoon ? ” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


7 


“Of Johnson Johns, at the store in Red House Port.” 

“You go back now and tell Johns, that Jack Wolston 
saw a girl with a red hood and gray dress, and a boy 
with a green hat, penned up safe in Cross’s cabin, 
where Cedar creek crosses the lower road, four miles 
the other side of Johns’ store, and I will call at the 
store to-morrow at noon and get my pay.” 

The negro jerked off his hat for thanks, said John- 
son Johns was all right, he would pay, and seizing his 
bell by the tongue began to belabor his beast with the 
handle. 

As he turned to go homeward he saw a little way 
down the dark-brown roof of tree tops three gray 
wreathes of smoke, rising slowly and so subdued to the 
twilight effect that they had hitherto escaped his 
notice. They were now leaven in his slow-witted 
mind of a ferment of thought as he walked his horse 
slowly down the hill. 

“Dat rascal wuz a gypsy. 

“Dose free fires wuz in his camp. 

“How could he see dose childers dar dis fore- 
noon when Cross’s is way off dar twenty miles.^^ 

“Certain sure was he dat dey wuz rigged in de red 
hood and gray gown ? 

“Pears now dat wuz dis ole man’s cry for dat little 
Sally Saterlee who tumbled down the Devil’s oven. 

“Dis ole man cannot get dat sight out ob his thick 
head any more. Dat little angel lying dar so 
quiet at de bottom ob de pool, all in dat red hood 
and gray gown. And so this ole fool ob a nigger has 
cried all dis live long day ; little Mary Johns in Sallie 
Saterlee’s gown, gray, and red hood ; when my ole 
Dinah cautioned me to sing only white sun bonnets 


8 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


and blue petticoats sure ! I don’t earn my wages 
when I mixes up my commandments. But how can 
dis ole nigger get little Sally Saterlee out of his head ? 

“But dat ugly fortin’ telling horse thief said he saw 
dis Mary Johns in de red hood and gray dress to-day 
at Cross’s. Ah ! Yes ! ! ” 

The negro now exhibited signs of some energy for 
the first time that day. He looked cautiously over 
his shoulder, drove his horse into a cluster of trees by 
the side of the road, muttering as he dismounted : 

“Thought he could fool me, and throw de ole bell 
man off de scent ; dose childers are in his camp, where 
dose free fires burn ober der hill in de great pine 
woods, an’ de ten dollar bill is dis nigger’s to wipe de 
chalk marks off de back side ob de door in de Trab- 
beler’s Inn.” 

Securing his horse, he made a long detour around 
the outpo st of his enemy, at the top of the Ridge road. 
He made slow progress through the thick underbrush 
and across the deep ravines of the great forest that 
covered the north side of the Ridge. It was long 
after dark when he found the camp, and succeeded in 
gaining unobserved a base of observational operations, 
in the thick branches of a hickory tree that overhung 
the very center of the gypsy camp. 

A gypsy is an outlaw his camp is a thieves-kennel, but 
by firelight it is always picturesque. And his cos- 
tume though rusty, is rarely incongruous with the wild 
scenery of rock and glen where his tents are pitched. 

The fires were built by the edge of the stream that 
spread thinly in dark-brown washes over the smoothe 
slate. Their light could penetrate but a little the 
pitchy darkness of the pine trees, painting on the 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


9 


intense blackness of the background, the brown 
tails and haunches of gaunt horses ; the heads and 
shoulders of the broad-chested men tethering them; 
here and there, a bit of broad tire of the great wagon 
wheels, or the dingy, canvas covering, shone out of 
the gloom. Nearer the fires, the colors brightened and 
details became more distinct. Around the red and 
gray tents were groups of bare-legged children ; pretty 
women; bare-footed; bare-headed; black-haired, and 
graceful. In the center of this patch of rich colors, 
on the dead pine needles under the tail of a wagon ; 
lay little Red Jacket and Blue Petticoat, fast asleep, 
with clasped hands, red faces, and torn clothes. 

It was some little time before the old black child 
hunter sighted his game. In the eagerness of his 
search, he had climbed out from his lair like a great 
bear, upon a branch of the old hickory, that reached 
directly over the space between the wagons and the 
fire. He was just drawing back in great glee to report 
down at the settlement his lucky find, when he saw an 
old witch, with yellow, wrinkled skin and tangled, 
black hair, watching with glistening eyes the sleep- 
ing babes in the woods. 

Suddenly she disappeared in her tent, and returned 
with a short, iron rod ; detaching a steel charm from 
a chain about her neck, she pushed the end of the rod 
through the charm so as to fasten it securely and 
placed the charm in the hottest part of the fire. The 
old negro immediately turned about and retraced his 
way to his perch, evidently drawn by intense curiosity. 
The old witch drew the rod from the fire. The charm 
was white with heat, quickly she touched the arms of 
the boy and girl just below the elbow. There was 


lO 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


an odor of burning flesh, and the shrieks of the children 
pierced the woods, 

The bellman, utterly dazed at the unexpected pro- 
ceedings of the old witch, lost his hold, and fell from 
branch to branch, out of the darkness above, like a 
great bear shaken from his perch. The few women 
that had been gathered by the cries of the children 
thought he was a bear, and fled in hot haste. 

But the ruling passion of the child hunter mastered 
fear and surprise, and grasping screaming “Red Jacket” 
under his right arm and “Blue Petticoats” under his 
left, the “bear” left the gypsy camp before their sur- 
prise enabled them to make a successful pursuit. 

The next morning, at the little red house, at Red 
House Port, two children rolled and tossed on the 
outside of the “spare bed,” in uneasy slumber. Their 
faces were scratched with thorns and stung with weeds. 

Just below the elbow of the boy and girl, was a 
bandage of white linen, beneath which was a deep, 
ugly burn, and when the burn healed, there was on 
the arm of each, an indelible brand of a bottle with an 
arrow shot through the body. 

Down at the Traveller’s Inn, climbing up the drunk- 
ard’s Paradise, as fast and as far as the ten dollar bill 
would serve, after it had been used to wipe off the 
“chalks' behind the door, lay the old black child 
hunter. Often would his stupid sleep be broken with 
the cry: 

“Lost child! Lost child, bare-footed, white dress, 
blue shoes; ten dollars!” 

Dnder his bench lay stretched at full-length, his 
favorite dog, and sometimes his slumbers were varied 
also by a somnambulistic baying, while his feet went 


THE WOODEM BOTTLE. 


II 


to and fro, swifter than the broad-ended hammer went 
up and down on the lapstone of the cobbler, across the 
way. While the old white horse, his quilt dragging 
at his side, fed on the commons in the center of the 
town. 

** * * **** 

One summer afternoon a green boy of fourteen 
came down on foot to the old ferry. He carried three 
or four paper parcels in one arm, and a la'rge carpet 
bag in the other. He displayed divers symptoms of 
a nervous self-consciousness, stopping often to lay 
down his burdens and push back his cuffs, or to change 
the pose of his hat, or to stretch now and then the 
bottoms of his short trousers to make them reach to 
the top of his shoes. Now he buttons the top of his 
coat, now he unlooses it again. He went to the sum- 
mit of the bluff above the wave-wasted beach, and un- 
rolled a piece of old sail, and stretched it in its rude 
frame to answer for a signal to the boat, that was on 
the other side of the lake. 

Then he went down the old road, over the gravel 
to the water’s edge, and watched the large, unshapely, 
flat-bottomed boat round up on the beach, and let down 
from its stern a stout platform, that answered as a 
bulwark to the. waves afloat, and a bridge ashore. 

A team of farm horses, a yoke of oxen with great 
horns, a fraction of a herd of sheep, came slowly over 
the bridge, in the shadow of the great sail that loomed 
up in its rich, warm, russett-gray against the amber 
sky. 

Afterwards, when the awkward boy stood by the 
boom, the noise of the rapid pounding of hoofs on the 
planks drew his attention to a phaeton drawn by two 


12 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


close-clipped, thorough-breds, driven by a coachman 
in livery, containing two richly-dressed ladies ; with 
them came a faint odor of violets. 

The low, soft music of the breaking waves, the deep, 
rich color of the twilight sky, the bright flashing 
faces, and brilliant dresses of the group in the carriage; 
the sweet fragrance of the flowers they wore, all com- 
bined to awaken in the boy an intimation of a new 
life. A life in brilliant parlors, and tapestred halls 
and fragrant conservatories, in the society of people 
like these only more grand. His old life of feeding 
cattle, drawing water, and hewing wood in dust, and 
grime, and sun, was now to be left behind him, as a 
snake strips off and slips away from its old skin. 

Just before the platform was lifted, a quiet girl, in 
a faded, pink gown, and brown-chip hat, with coarse 
shoes, came over the bridge into the boat, carrying 
a pair of chickens tied by the legs. 

She was evidently an old acquaintance of the boy, 
who greeted her familiarly, yet with a slight show of 
disgust, as if she belonged to something he wished 
to leave behind, and it seemed more in keeping, with 
his new life for her to remain on shore and there bid 
him good bye. Somehow, her appearance on the 
boat, and her short journey with him towards the 
romantic possibilities of the west, underminded a 
little his confidence that he could ever escape from 
the people or the life of the past. 

Sometimes the boy watched furtively Miss Sappho, 
in her satin vest of old gold and dress of wine-colored 
silk, the glow of the western sky flushing her light 
curls and sharp, clear-cut features; intoxicated with 
the perfume in the soft evening air, he dreamed of 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 1 3 

high marble halls, of golden lamps, of fair women and 
brave men. 

Sometimes he watched Miss Ruth, with her freck- 
led face, half-hid in her scoop-shovel hat, her strong 
hand grasping the yellow-feathered legs of the black 
and white dorkings, and then he thought of the settle- 
ment, of the gypsy camp where he and this neighbor’s 
child had been so strangely branded, of dusty roads 
through which together they had driven the village 
cows, of the cramped, little log school house, the 
dark, low-walled houses where they had lived ; all 
that life was to be forever left behind, with that life 
wet with dew, begrimed with dust, burned with the 
sun and wind and pinched with the cold. He was 
weary of it all ; he was sorry that Ruth must go back 
again to the old life with the boat. 

Meanwhile, Fortune’s fair-haired child in the phae- 
ton was inclined to be facetious at the expense of 
poor Ruth. 

“Will those little birds sing .? ” she mocked. 

The girl started at this unexpected question, and 
dropped her fowls, the string separated, and they 
were at liberty in the boat. 

For a moment the boy hesitated, as he thought of 
his ridiculous figure in his short trousers and low 
cuffs, chasing the fowls about the boat, but one glance 
at Ruth, and her evident embarrassment, set him to 
work helping his village mate to regain her prisoners. 
Meanwhile, the boat stopped on the western shore, 
the phaeton drove rapidly away, the thoughtless 
laugh of its occupants causing the boy a vexation he 
did not attempt to conceal. He was inclined to be 
angry with Ruth. The incident increased an uneasy 


H 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


suspicion that he never could break with his old life. 
The brand in the arm of each was ominous. 

“Why did you drop the chickens 

“I could not help it, I was so frightened.” 

“I am going away for good.” 

“Where.?” 

“To the city. Yesterday, I was picking apples in 
the lower orchard, with a basket half-full I came down 
the ladder; went over to the tree where my father was 
at work, and laying down the basket said : I am 
through with this kind of work, forever, and I meant 
it, and am on my way to another life to-day.” 

“I wish I was a man ! I would go too.” 

The boy’s irritation passed away. They talked of 
the old settlement life, while he waited for the train, 
and much of the eventful life they spent in the forest, 
and the singular mark they wore and the interpretation 
given them by the village priest who said, that he had 
learned from one of his old books, that this witch 
must have stolen her charm from an ancient Danish 
family, it was their escutcheon, and' had been be- 
stowed by the king of the Danes, because, once on 
the battlefield, a Dane had been wounded in a fight 
with the Swedes. He had a wooden bottle filled with 
wine, from which he was about to partake, when he 
saw lying near him a wounded Swede. He said to 
to his enemy, offering him the wine : 

“Thou needest help more than I.” 

The Swede shot him in return with an arrow through 
the shoulder. 

“Thou shalt still have some wine,” said the Dane 
‘but to punish thee for thine ingratitude, thou shalt 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


15 


have only half when thou mightest have had the whole.” 

And thereupon he drank half, and gave the remain- 
der to his enemy. 

The king coming up, surprised at such magnanim- 
ity, made the wounded Dane a Knight, and gave him 
a wooden bottle shot through with an arrow. 

The noise of the train was heard at last. The peo- 
ple caught their parcels and rushed out on the plat- 
form. In the confusion, the awkward boy shook Ruth’s 
hand; said good-by, and the lives of the two parted 
for a time. Nevertheless, those four persons that met 
on this old boat were destined to meet often in the 
future, and there lives were intimately intertwined in 
joy and sorrow. 




CHAPTER II. 

KATRINA. 

WEARY woman, whose faded dress 
was drawn down over her thin form 
in straight lines, by little dirty chil- 
dren clinging thereto — like heavy 
fringe-balls — cries out to the blue- 
coated postman, who is fishing in his 
leathern bag for a letter with a for- 
eign stamp : 

“Why, look over there ! ” 

She was looking over a group of rail-road tracks 
and switches, where a provision store was built, pre- 
cisely on a line of the street and track, so that the 
only entrance to the lodging above the shop, was 
either through the store, or over the fence. This 
fence between the store and track, was as high as you 
could reach with your hand. It was brown with train 



THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


17 


smoke, and daubed with bright paint in a striking but 
meaningless way, since once it had been used as an 
immense sign-board, and letters that travelers could 
read without glasses had been inscribed thereon, in 
vermilion and white, but the boards had been taken 
off, here and there, for temporary purposes, and had 
not been re-nailed with any regard to their proper 
sequence of the letters, and thus a strange jumble of 
letters was formed, half red and half white, reversed, 
and missing. 

On the rail-road track was a short, elderly man in a 
dark, stiff hat and dusty, black clothes, stretching up, 
trying to make himself a trifle, taller, so that with his 
fingers-tips he might balance a coffin which he had 
placed, across the fence. On the inside of the fence 
was a tall, bare-headed woman, whose great, round 
arms were upstretched to meet the wavering coffin, 
very much like the arms of St. Paul as he is painted 
by Raphael, preaching in the Acropolis, 

The stuffy man in black, made a desperate jump, 
which enabled him to throw the coffin high enough 
for the strong hands of the woman to fasten upon it, 
whereupon he climbs over the fence, seizes his end of 
the coffin, and the two carry it into the door, and up 
the stairs, very much like two ants lugging a dead 
beetle into their hole. 

Suddenly the switchman with one leg and a crutch; 
begrimed with soot; waving a soiled, white flag, pops 
out of his brown box; drives the coffin cart back, up 
the horse-road; shakes his coffee-colored rag at the 
passers by the crossing; stops the stream of milk 
vans, coal carts, ice wagons and street cars; shouts 
angry threats at the boys, who to awaken yet more 


i8 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


his ire, proceed to sit as long as possible on the track 
of the approaching train. 

Slowly through the crowd, a ponderous engine tugs 
and struggles; it sends forth more smoke and cinders, 
but it fails to raise the grade. 

It is a long train of emigrants. Evidently, the last 
stop was made in a country place, in the midst of a 
a green forest, for the steps; platforms and windows 
are crowded with pale and pinched people, who hold 
bunches of green, forest trees in their hands and wore 
crowns of green 'leaves, while the children had woven 
chains and belts of leaves, and the sooty cars were 
green with the booty of a raid on the woods. 

The train at length stops on the street; instantly, 
a crowd of dull-eyed men, heavy, coarse women and 
odd-looking children hurrying to the hydrant, fill their 
cups and cans with water. 

The engine tugs and labors again like a portable 
volcano, and slowly the train moves on. 

The crowd rush back. A little girl is pushed off the 
platform, strikes heavily upon the ties, and falls into a 
depression in the tracks, lying still with fright on the 
black bed of cinders while wheel after wheel ground 
by in a rush of dust and ashes. 

A little child is not quickly missed from a crowd of 
children. It was not until the next great city was 
reached, that the conductor was informed that some- 
where on the line, a little girl had fallen from the train, 
and undoubtedly had been killed; neither is noticed 
the sudden appearance of a little child among the 
numerous flocks of children in a crowded street. But 
that night, on the straight, bare seat of a third-class 
car, a weary, but sleepless woman moaned and lean- 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


19 


ing far out of the window, looked back over the long 
perspective of mountain and lake, and track and tree, 
rushing by in the dim starlight, and saw down the deep 
abyss of every ravine, the little bleeding Katrina cry- 
ing for her mother, born away so far and so fast beyond 
lake and mountain, by the swift and ever-flying train. 

And that night, in the streets of the city, left so far 
behind her, little Katrina totters from group to group 
down the sidewalks, until a policeman asks her where 
she lives, and not receiving a very satisfactory answer, 
takes a street car up town, and gives little Katrina 
over to the tender mercies of the matron of the Or- 
phan’s Home. 

From the Home to the Hospital was a natural step, 
and Katrina, who had been baptised in the little 
chapel, Etheloreda, because it was that saint’s day 
when she was received, was known as a nurse, by the 
name of Ethel. It was her good fortune to be sent 
into the family of Mrs. Priestly Prackett, who admired 
those daring adventurers of her sex, who bravely in- 
vade the realm of Esculapius and become physicians. 
She took a fancy to thoroughly educate Ethel, as a 
doctor, and at the age of twenty-seven, she had pro- 
gressed so far as to open an office in Pliny Avenue, 
with some encouragement, that her career would be 
both useful and lucrative. 

In the meanwhile, little “Red Jacket” had reached 
the great city, but alas ! he found life there very dif- 
ferent from his boyish dream of its magnificence. He 
learned his first lesson in life, that while all the peo- 
ple in the country, are anxious to get into the city, 
as^ their Paradise, all the denizens of the city are 


20 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


struggling towards that happy day when they could 
get into the country as their Paradise. 

He got on after a fashion. At twenty-eight, he was 
still a workman in the old organ factory, where he had 
obtained his first work in New York, as sweeper and 
duster; after having walked many miles in vain search- 
ing for an humble opening in a grand commercial 
house, that had an elevator to take green country 
boys at the basement, and gradually elevate them, 
one, two, three floors, to the top, if they stayed in it, 
then they became partners. He never found that 
elevator, but he had learned to make an organ. His 
name was Charley Clinton. 

Ruth, his old companion had been in the city some- 
time, but he had almost forgotten her, but it is with 
her history, that for a little while we shall be engaged, 
and first of all, with the interesting family, where she 
could be found when in the city. 




CHAPTER III. 

WHEN THE TALE WAS DOUBLED, MOSES CAME. 

ONEY in Simeon Atwood’s fami- 
ly was only a means of living. To 
him, greenbacks were but the 
Lord’s tickets for rations, which 
were issued at too irregular peri- 
ods of time to substantiate Sim- 
eon’s peculiar view of Providence. 
These “tickets” of the Lord were 
kept in an ancient tobacco jar on 
the mantle over the family hearth- 
stone. All the money, from every 
source, received by every member of the household, 
was straightway deposited in this fragrant bank. The 
credit of any member of the family was good at this 
bank, and whatever expenditure was to be made, any 
one’s hand could go into this common till. 

The flat-head and high-cheek bones of the face of 



22 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


a North American aboriginee was carved in rude 
relief upon the front of the jar. This face seemed 
to be endowed with some feeling, for Simeon always 
said he could tell if he must scrape the bottom, by the 
anxious and sad expression this Indian seemed to 
assume. While he always noticed, that when his fin- 
gers in their prospecting struck a rich lode, the same 
uncouth eyes sparkled and the grimy lips grinned. 

On one occasion, when Simeon found not even a 
penny in the bank, he was so struck by the lugubrious 
countenance of Mr. Lo that he forthwith painted with 
indian-red across the swarthy brows the legend : 
When the Tale was doubled Moses came. 

As more children, in time crowded around the fire- 
side, more hands were put into the jar. The bottom 
was more frequently visible, and the irregular streams 
which, from weddings, and gifts, and sales of manu- 
scripts, came from the same legend to be dubbed 
gifts from Moses. And as such irregular supplies 
were most freely expended, the household was greatly 
rejoiced when Moses came. An unusual supply of 
oranges, or oysters, would be certain to set little lame 
Fred cackling from the foot of the table : 

“Mother! Mother!! When did Moses come.?” 

The stolid old chieftain would have looked glum- 
mer still if he had known the shiftless investments of 
the accumulated capital of his little bank. A lapsed 
life insurance, a mortgaged lot in a building association 
a few shares in a deserted silver mine, had caught the 
rare overflow, but no returns from these investments 
ever swelled the little offertory on the family altar, 
but if giving to the poor is lending to the Lord, this 
humble bank had heavy investments in high quarters. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


23 


The family was a unit on che subject of finance. 
Simeon’s wife, Elizabeth, familiarly called from court- 
ship days Bet, was in sympathy with shiftless Simeon 
in his unconventional life. Everything that Simeon 
did, was right in his Bet’s eyes. To question the 
merit of Simeon’s sermons, was to declare war with 
Mrs. Bet. If the ration tickets were exhausted, she 
was sure to find some tobacco in the jar, the dry crust 
was seasoned with her bright and happy jokes, and 
the pipe of consolation was always lighted with her 
own deft fingers. 

Perhaps Bet. was not a good housekeeper. Her 
parlor was not an annex to the Historical Institute. 
However, it was not without a dado, and this orna- 
ment of every room in the house, was like the high- 
water mark in a cottage, just after a great flood. 
Above it was some attempt at order and decoration, 
below it was desolation. 

A few pictures, a few mottoes, chiefly “The Lord will 
provide,” with variations, were hung over this line, 
which was just above the highest point that Bob, 
little Georgie and Matthew could reach, when they 
stood on the high chair. 

Above this line, the fashion of ornamentation was 
fixed. Below it, the arrangement was moveable ; books, 
card receivers, albums, and all the scanty Bric-Brac 
of Simeon’s house showed signs of frequent and violent 
change in their order. These little decorators pulled 
down the great Unabridged; gambled with the photo- 
graphs; permanently invested divers spoons and knives 
in the registers, giving the whole house, below this 
high-water line, a dado of singular effect, a doged- 
eared, bruised and thumb-worn look. The parlor was 


24 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


perfumed with tobacco smoke, and the old clothes for 
the poor often littered the kitchen. Guests who lin- 
ger there, must beware lest they sit down on Bob’s 
mud pies, or little Bet’s broken chir>a service, or place 
their unfortunate feet in Matthew’s experimental traps. 
But guests were numerous in the house, and they loved 
to stay, for with all its shiftless finance, and violation 
of the canons of good taste, happiness dwelt therein. 

Simeon’s pet hobby was an invention, an automatic 
cloth printer. It never had worked, and scoffers were 
many, who were bold to say it never would work. It 
was a constant study for Simeon in all his leisure hours. 
No one had any faith in it, except himself and Mrs. 
Bet. They, however, Iboked upon it as certain to 
succeed, and to furnish, from its profitable sale, the 
bread and butter, when,, in the course of events; 
Simeon’s usefulness being over, he should be turned 
out into the commons of the Church, without oats or 
hay. These approaching seven years of famine that 
were sure to follow the present plenty, did not frighten 
Simeon and his wife, they built no granaries, and 
hoarded no wheat during these years of plenty, for 
would not the automatic cloth printer be just com- 
plete when Simeon’s voice began to weaken, and his 
hair to grow gray. 

Just at this time there was a premonitory famine 
in Simeon’s house. The great misfortune that was 
sure to punish at last such reckless finance sent 
its shadows before. It was not a new experience to 
see the old Indian scowl, and find only a dust of 
tobacco in his bank. Of late, however, unusually 
large drafts had been made upon the jar, and only a 
few deposits placed therein. The result thereof was 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


25 


immediately perceptible. The table was deprived of 
its holliday attire, and only those modest viands ap- 
peared thereon that could be purchased of the grocer 
who w-as accustomrd to give the family credit and thus 
'tide it over the bar.” 

At such narrow times the automatic cloth printer 
was brought out, dusted and improved a little, and 
the whole family made merry over the good things it 
would soon bring them to eat. It was not as substan- 
tial diet as they would have, when Moses came again, 
but it was eaten with a zest, and was an effective fist- 
shaking at Poverty. 

From opposite directions, two very different people, 
a young woman, and an old man, are approaching 
this little family, whose advent therein, will work a 
notable change. 

Moses Langis, Jr., was the senior partner of the 
great iron firm of Langis Jr. & Co., of Illinois. 

He commenced life on his own account, when he 
found a horseshoe in the highway, which he traded 
with a farmer for an old jackknife. He set out to trade 
this for a better one. He soon obtained a watch ; then 
a horse, which was at once traded for money. Then 
Mr. Langis’s career may be said to have fairly com- 
menced. The rest of his life had been spent, in a 
hunt after the man, who must have a little money now, 
at any cost hereafter. He had not been hard to find, 
and Langis grew rich. He was not happy, and was 
generally disliked. When he built a little office down 
by the gate, in the country village^ where he made 
his fortune, he took much pride in nailing thereon, in 
rather conspicuous letters, a japaned-tin sign : 

Moses Langis Jr., Office, 


26 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


The sign disappeared that very night. Langis was 
indignant at the theft. The Morning Eagle screamed 
out a vigorous protest against this outrage upon a 
respectable citizen, but when it reappeared again with 
a large razor gilded in the vacant space between the 
words, Langis and office, no one said a word, and 
Langis himself never erased the insulting intimation 
of his trade as a note shaver. Only once, thereafter, 
when a couple of strangers, crossed from the tavern, 
and walked in, asking for a shave, thinking it was a 
barber shop, did he refer to the sign. 

Langis moved west, invested in the iron trade, be- 
came very rich, but still followed his old trade of bill 
broker. 

He had one weakness, that more than once threat- 
ened to overthrow his success. He drank hard. He 
was always too close to indulge at the village bar, 
but there was whiskey in his cellar. When he came 
to the city, he was less careful however, and sometimes 
he was seen where sharpers linger to pluck the victims 
that whiskey transforms into geese. 

Moses Langis was a man of seventy. His short- 
cropped hair was white, his thin face was shaved clean, 
gold glasses surmounted a nose that habitually pushed 
up in the air. He was dressed in fine, blue broad- 
cloth, of a late ‘cut. He carried money, tobacco, a 
revolver and a bundle of bank notes, was something 
of a politician and talked loud. He was in New York 
for a few days on business. He had been to the min- 
strels, and had stopped at a doubtful sample room to 
drink. 

Langis was a periodical drunkard. For months he 
was clean, and bright, and alive to business duties. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


27 


He seemed to hate a bar, and to detest strong drink, 
during these two months he was a teetotaler, but at 
the end of this period, there came an hour, when he 
suddenly stopped his work, whatever it might be, and 
wherever he was, stood with his back to his desk, his 
hands in his pockets, his hat on the back of his head, 
precisely in the attitude of an absent-minded man, 
plunged in the deepest thought. He was not thinks 
ing, he was fighting against a blind impulse to drink, 
not once, but continuously, to drink, drink, drink, 
long and longer still, hot and fiery ; hotter and 
fierier still, to burn in the fierce flames of his passionate 
appetite till he was senseless. 

This unreasoning impulse was a sluggish, uncon- 
querable force that hurled 'itself against his better 
nature, like a powerful Octopus, whose slimy arms 
wrapt in helpless captivity, every nerve and muscle 
that served his will. 

Thus it happened this night, when he was in New 
York on business. The fit took him, he went into 
this doubtful sample room, and drank often, and of the 
strongest liquors, and at last, when the lights began 
to dance and the tables to spin, he shuffled out into 
the street and on to a ferry, but the fresh air made him 
sick. He fought hard with his old enemy, the slimy 
Octopus, but his nerves would not answer to his will. 
He knew that the Octopus was winning the battle. 

He blindly followed the few late passengers and 
took an open street car. Here he fought with less, 
and still less strength, the Octopus would soon win. 
His head fell upon his chest; his hat went to leeward 
and was lost in the night. Soon the conductor came 
to collect his fare. Moses unsteadily pushed his hand. 


28 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


first into one pocket, then into another, then he 
handed up his knife, a torn envelope, then his gloves, 
then a handful of silver, which leaked through his fin- 
gers and rolled out into the dark mud. The conduct- 
or took a large piece, and was not careful about the 
change he returned. He pulled the bell and roughly 
ejected poor Moses into the black darkness of the 
street. He toppled and fell upon the curb, then he 
regained his feet with difficulty, blood oozed from his 
bruised forehead, his limbs were blue and rigid with 
cold. A horrible sickness weakened his whole sys- 
tem, and the streets, houses, and walks whirled in a 
confused mass, like tinsel bits in a kaleidoscope. Still 
he fought, but more feebly. 

He was at the corner of St. Xavier’s Place. He 
struggled down the street, a little farther blind with 
blood, clutched by the foul Octopus, he gave up and 
fell heavily against Simeon Atwood’s door. 

The Octopus had won again, and for hours, Moses 
Langis would be his prisoner, completely smothered 
in his slimy folds, helpless, unconscious, in a favorable 
plight for his bitterest enemy to come and drive a 
nail through his forehead into the earth, as Sisera 
impaled Jael, but Moses did not fall into his enemies’ 
tent, but at the door of one, who was no man’s enemy. 

Simeon was awakened from his sleep by the heavy 
fall, crept down stairs, in his night clothes, opened the 
door and pulled Moses in. He laid him with a sorry 
joke, but rude kindness, on the couch, muttering that 
he had the palsy, that some pickles in the morning 
would cure, threw an overcoat over him, and went 
back to bed. The next morning. Bet and the children 
were not surprised at the sight of the old man in 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


29 


heavy sleep in the sitting room, such sights were not 
rare in Simeon’s house. At dinner he lay there still, 
but at 3 P. M., he suddenly arose, threw his coat into 
a corner and surlily asked Mrs. Bet for a pickle, 
where he was, when he came there, and how. He 
asked for his hat, and attempted to stand, but was 
forced to sit down again, every nerve in his body pro- 
testing. Again, he meekly asked Mrs. Bet for a pickle, 
but she had a better prescription for the “palsy” and a 
cheaper cure for “hair-pulling,” for in her first experi- 
ments, she had seen in a few hours, a jar of chow- 
chow disappear down a fiery throat. She kept in the 
closet, a strong decoction of horehound, which she 
had brewed for such as Moses; pouring out a large 
tumbler of the bitter decoction, she gave it to the 
drunkard. This dose drove away the Octopus for the 
time, but the day was surely coming, when he would 
come to stay. Moses was about to make another 
attempt to find his hat, and depart, leaving a dollar 
for his lodgings, in the hand of his doctress, when his 
attention was drawn to the loud use of his own Chris- 
tian name. 

For many days there had been a famine in the land. 
Great irregularity in Simeon’s pay, and his peculiar 
trust in the providential appearance of Moses, just in 
the “nick of time,” had thrown the whole family upon 
half-rations, but it did not seem to effect the cheerful 
routine. The happy clatter of the mill sounded on, 
as the afternoon wore away, though the water was 
low at the wheel. Moses was watching a good chance 
to sneak away to his hotel. The old Indian was 
scowling his worst. Mrs. Bet was laying the table 
and cooking a famous dish that she read from a French 


30 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


receipt-book, as Mats Dor but which smelled very 
much like mush. Little Bob came in with a hop- 
skip-and-a-jump with his heavy boots, on the bare 
floor, that made old Moses clap his hands to his head. 

“Mother! Mother I! When will Moses come?” 

The call struck on his nervous ear-drum, like a 
sharp thunderclap. 

“Mother, is Cousin Ruth coming to night?” 

“Yes, Bob.” 

“Can’t we have something beside mush for supper ?” 

The old man cursed inwardly the stout boots and 
the loud noise of Master Bob. 

“Why can’t we have some cake ? I am tired of 
mush. We had mush yesterday and the day before.” 

“We will have plenty of cake when Moses comes.” 

“ When will Moses come?'' 

At this singular dialogue, old Mr. Moses pricked up 
his ears; involuntarily felt for his glasses; wiped them, 
and pushed up the left corner of his face for business. 
His head seemed free from the Octopus, but his feet 
and limbs and crushed body, were too badly squeezed 
in the filthly monster s slimy hug, to answer promptly 
for duty. A strong curiosity also held him back, to 
learn, if he might, how the arrival of his famous name- 
sake could effect the financial arrangements of this 
humble and evidently, very poor household. 

At 5 P. M., there was* another arrival at Simeon’s 
house. A beautiful woman, of about twenty-five years 
of age, came down St. Xavier’s Place, gripsack in 
hand. She was trifle tall, with a hint of consider- 
able physical strength, and a vigorous action in her 
straight and shapely form. Her face was wide, leav- 
ing the oval and approaching the square, with a high 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


31 


forehead, roofed with heavy, projecting masses of 
dark-brown hair, tinted a trifle with gray. Her 
face was too thoughtful and earnest, to be considered 
beautiful, and there were slight visible reminiscencies 
of an experience in a small-pox hospital, but her face 
was beautiful nevertheless, because the bloom of 
hope, and faith, and trust, was on it yet. She was 
evidently moved by deep purposes, and wherever she 
was, her life would not be without its absorbing aims. 
She was dressed in a short, seal-skin sacque, a 
close-fitting dress, a black, neat, round hat without 
any surplus trimming or flying ribbons. Her air 
conveyed the impression that she was in town to meet 
her fate more than half-way and compel it to success. 

She was welcomed by the children with shouts of 
joy; a little tired by her trip, she rejoiced in the hos- 
pitable shelter of her friends. She gave the old man 
only a glance. 

When Simeon came in, he seemed greatly rejoiced 
to see her. A care-worn look that he carried over 
the threshold, vanished Questions of old places, and 
old friends, and their answers, passed and repassed 
with laughter and joke and joy. When supper was 
served, the visitor did not seem surprised at the mea- 
ger meal. When the old man was asked to sit by, he 
complied, but he seemed to awake out of a stupor. 
He brushed his glasses, and looked out of the corner 
of his face. He was inexpressibly surprised, when 
the father, who kept up a continual run of jokes and 
laughter, stopped as suddenly as if he had sprung an 
air-brake on the rushing train of his ridiculous words. 
He had gravely announced that the arrival of such a 
distinguished guest, should be celebrated in no less 


32 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


notable manner than in his utter refusal to write any 
sermon that evening for the morrow. He would make 
an evening of it, even if it was Saturday. He would 
follow the example of a friend of his, he knew. He 
would chop off the head of an old sermon, and like- 
wise the tail, and then he would put the tail where 
the head ought to be, and the head he would put 
where the tail had been, and astonish his learned 
audience with the monstrosity. And this led, of 
course, to the jolly story of the “wonderful freak of 
nature,” exhibited in his native place, when he was a 
boy. A living horse to be seen for the small sum of 
ten cents, whose head actually was where his tail 
ought to be, and his tail was truly where his head 
ought to be ; which the investor of ten cents worth 
of natural history, discovered to be a fact, when he 
was introduced to a wonderful horse, with his tail tied 
to the manger. With his eyes filled with tears of 
laughter, he suddenly stopped, let his voice fall an 
octave lower, and murmured : 

“For these, and all Thy mercies, make us, O Lord 
truly thankful.” 

After supper, the old man lingered still. He was 
noticed only to hand him ‘a pipe and tobacco, out of 
the jar, where the mournful Indian sat by the broken 
bank. 

With many a jest and ludicrous story, the two wom- 
en, Simeon and little Fred made a “Bee,” and cleared 
away the dishes. The old Indian scowled. The stran- 
ger seemed interested. 

The jokes at length began to center on the broken 
bank, and many were the threatening fists shaken at 
the sad-faced cashier, when little lame Fred took pity 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


33 


on the lugubrious aboriginee, and proposed to pass 
the jar around for a little offertory, to gather up all 
that the crowd possessed, to make a deposit, to relieve 
the poor indian from his fit of the “Blues.” 

As little Fred hobbled around, he went to Simeon 
first, who took his pipe out of his mouth, and a shade 
soberly said : 

“I pass.” 

Mrs. Bet slowly unhooked from her collar, a plain 
gold pin. Cousin Ruth took her pocket-book and 
emptied it out, but only a few silver quarters fell into 
the jar. The old indian did not relax a muscle. Lit- 
tle Fred stood hesitating, then he went suddenly to 
the stranger, and held the jar before him ; out of his 
childish pity he would not exclude the old man from 
the fun of the social group. 

The stranger was greatly excited, he seemed about 
to sp ak ; he rubbed his glasses, pushed up the left 
side of his face, then felt for his pocket-book ; of 
cours • it was gone, confiscated by the Philistines, in 
last night’s 1 att’e. 

Then he took from his vest, a soiled card, and bor- 
ro .\ ing Fred’s pencil, wrote : 

“GOOD FOR FIVE DOLLARS, MOSES,” 
and threw it into the jar. The old indian smiled, and 
never after was seen to scowl again. 

A long, serious conversation, was now held by the 
three adults. Many schemes were discussed, where- 
with to procure corn out of Egypt. Then Simeon 
brought out the automatic cloth printing machine, 
ani Its glorious future achievements were explained. 
When it was a success, and it was sure to be a suc- 
cess, when it was completed, they, would have money 


34 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


enough. They would fill the old Indian’s bank to the 
brim, and forever cure the long-faced chap carven 
thereon of the “Blues.” They would leave St. Xavier’s 
Place, a good enough place for a poor man, but no 
place for them in their improved circumstances. They 
would go to Europe, and Cousin Ruth should carry out 
ner pet idea of musical study and little Fred should 
have the best medical advice in Paris. Simeon would 
receive a call to a large parish, for, surely, a rich clergy- 
man would be popular. Happy people ! Forgotten 
was the famine-stricken tea-table. Forgotten the un- 
paid rent, the exhausted credit, the long unpaid bills, 
the morrow' s necessities ! 

For many days Poverty had been knocking, soft and 
and low at fir.'^t, but now', louder and yet louder, at the 
door, but they knew the old Skeleton well, and were 
not afraid of him. They laughed at him, jeered him, 
and would not let him in. 

Meanwhile, in a dark corner, sat old Moses, a most 
interested looker-on. It was a revelation to him out 
of a new world; tears were tickling down his cheeks. 
The peace and love, the sweet contentment and fear- 
less courage of this little family, had been unknown 
before in his experience. He thought of his own 
palatial home in the west, cold, cheerless, inhospitable, 
childless; of his cross wife, stiff and dry and heartless 
as the bombazine of her old-fashioned dress. 

He had sought money from the day he found the 
horseshoe in the road, until now, a rich wreck, he was 
drifting a little while ere he sunk beneath life’s waters. 

He had sought only money, and found only money. 
A house and establishment and wife, had attached 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


35 


themselves to him because of his money, but this sim- 
ple-minded man had not sought money, neither had 
he found it, but he had sought a home, and had found 
what Moses had lost. 

The loss of that home, in years past, had driven 
Moses to the hotel and sample room, where at last, he 
was caught by that frightful Octopus that was surely 
smothering all the manhood left in him. 

While the little group was busy over the machine 
he stealthily left the room. His curiosity was satisfied. 

Cousin Ruth had come to New York, with very 
different business in hand. She must have money; 
more money than she might find any morning in 
Simeon’s bank. This intention to make money, sharp- 
ened her wits, while she studied the improvements on 
the ‘‘Automatic.” The machine would not work, but 
could it not be rearranged ? Could she not invent 
some arm, or bearing, or endless screw that would 
perfect the machinery. The idea took possession of 
her mind. She studied over it for days. At last, she 
seemed to arrive at a new combination, by intuition. 

Would it workl 

Simeon was consulted in the evening. 

“Work } Of course it will work ! Why have I not 
thought of that combination before ! Any one might 
have known that, it is so simple !” 

It did not work, but the principle was correct. 

Change after change was made, with new wheels 
and levers readjusted, until by a simplification of the 
action, rather than by the addition of new devices, 
the automatic printer printed ! Some few details were 
added, and the machine was declared perfect. 

But, the machinery was costly, and the outlay of 


36 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


money at the first would be immense. A company 
must be formed and capital solicited, but no one could 
be induced to see any value in the invention. Capital 
in such cases is very timid. 

When all their acquaintances were consulted, and 
no one would invest a cent in the “Automatic,” an 
advertisement was inserted in the daily press. 

Wanted. — A silent partner with $ 20 , 000 , to invest 
in a valuable invention which has been thoroughly 
tested and is patented. Address SiMEON Atwood, 
St. Xavier’s Place. 

There were no answers by the mails, though after 
a proper time little Fred and Cousin Ruth watched 
anxiously the arrival of the carrier. But one day, lit- 
tle Fred limped in with the Herald^ shouting at the 
top of his lungs, while he waved his paper with one 
hand and pushed his crutch with the other : 

"'Old Moses has come ! Old Moses has come! ! ” 

Ruth’s attention was called to an advertisement 
that awakened unbounded wonder in the little house. 

Personal. — If the parties advertising for a silent 
partner, in the matter of bringing out an automatic 
cloth printing machine will write to Moses Langis Jr. 
& Co., Cincinnati, they will hear of something to their 
advantage. 

Moses had come, surely ! 

A letter was forthwith dispatched, and by return 
mail came a simple proposal, to invest $20,000, in the 
manufacture of the machines, for half the profits. 

And thus the firm of Langis, Atwood & Co., came 
into existence, the “Co.,” being represented by Miss 
Ruth Falbert. And this company was very success- 
ful, and thus, in time. Miss Falbert had a large income. 



CHAPTER IV. 

J. JOHNSTONE KENT, ATTORNEY. 

T WAS a rainy day outside ; and 
very quiet inside of the old organ 
factory, where Charley Clinton, in 
his paper hat and white sleeves, was 
tuning a metal pipe, at a little work- 
bench against the wall. Behind him 
was a forest of pipes, standing Tcfw 
upon row ; little, lead cylinders, and 
great square, red boxes. A pictur- 
esque sight, is a grand organ, strip- 
ped of its case, with its “red chest of 
whistles,” looming up out of the 
gloom of i he corner of an old workshop. 

The believer the door rang sharply, and the work- 
man saw a glitter of garnet silk, and heard a sparkling 
voice ask for the senior member of the firm ; the boy 
directed her to the workman, who had seen her oc- 



38 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


casionaly in the shop, and knew her to be the organ- 
ist of a church up town. She wished to examine an 
organ, some friends had looked over with the inten- 
tion of buying, and was soon busy with the stops and 
pedals of one of the largest pile of pipes. 

The sharp bell tinkles again, a young man, in a 
fashionable suit, but who looked as if he had just been 
fished out of the North river, thrust his head around 
the edge of the door, and seeing the coast clear, came 
in, and with an anxious air, he shuffled up to the bench; 
doffed his dripping beaver, uncovering a polished 
skull ; the little hair on his head shot out stiff and 
straight from around his ears; eye glasses and a 
square, gold fob, marked him as a student. He pushed 
into his work, without any preliminaries about the 
weather. 

“I have some business with you sir, strictly confi- 
dential.” Here he looked about, and Charley did the 
same, and saw that the organist had disappeared in 
the dark recesses between the great organs. 

“With me.^” said the workman, “why I don’t know 
you.” 

“I am J. Johnstone Kent, attorney and councilor at 
law.” 

“Well, I suppose you wish to serve some paper; out 
with your business, and make yourself scarce; I want 
nothing to do with a lawyer ! ” 

“You are mistaken this time, some other time I may 
have the pleasure to visit you on strictly professional 
business, but this is my own private affair, and of the 
greatest importance. You can help me in a great 
trouble, you can save my life, you can effect my future 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


39 


happiness. Everything now depends upon you.” 

“Upon me ? ” said Charley. 

“I have just learned that you know Miss Kate 
Rainswirth, the organist, and that you could have 
some little influence with her father.” 

“I never met her father,” said Charley.” 

“Yes, but you could meet him. I can show you 
where he lives.” I must tell you that I love Miss 
Kate. I was engaged to be married to her, one 
lucky day, but sir, I have been most unjustly treated. 
I have sir, that brutal father, that hard-hearted brother 
they thrust me out of their house. They forbade my 
Kate to write to me. They have cast a spell over 
her, she will not speak to me. But with your influence 
you can prevail upon her to give me one interview. 
Only one short interview, and I can explain away 
the icebergs that have frozen her affections. You will 
obtain for me only one short interview, on which 
everything depends. O Kate ! My own darling 
Kate ! Why will you not allow me one, short con- 
versation, and let me tear away the web of lies that 
the brutal father and cruel brother have woven about 
you ? But you will go to-night, and tell my Kate, I 
love her still, and that I am dying with despair ’’ 

“I tell you,” interrupted Charley, “that I do not 
know you. I am sorry for you, but you must hunt up 
some one else, who can plead your lost cause better 
than a workman at the bench.” 

“You will not go to-night 

“Not to-night.” 

“Well, I leave my destiny in your hands. I will 
call to-morrow, and learn the result of your efforts in 
my behalf,” and he bowed himself out of the door. 


40 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


Miss Kate’s head was stretched out from behind a 
wind-chest, anxiously waiting his departure. 

“Do you know that lawyer.?” said Charley. 

“Yes,” said the lady, coming up to the bench, all in 
a tremble. “And I just wish that he would slip on the 
wet stones, and the stage would run over him and cut 
his empty head off.” 

“He says that you promised to marry him.” 

“Yes, I did one evil day, but I found him out in 
good time.” 

“And broke your engagement.?” 

“Yes. He met me on the train one night; there 
was a look in his glazed eyes of a dead man; he was 
drunk ! the sweet features of his fair face that had 
fascinated me were transformed into the brutal lines 
of a satyr; where I had only seen the man, I now saw 
the beast. I loathed and hated him ! He seemed to 
have killed and utterly extinguished the man I wor- 
shiped and forced his coarse self into his victim’s 
form and lineaments, I never could love him again. 
He tried with his thick tongue to address me, but I 
called the conductor and had him taken into the 
smoking car. From that day he has haunted me. 
He obtains in some way a knowledge of all my move- 
ments, wherever I am, he is sure to turn up. I wish 
he was dead ! I am Kate Rainswirth, you have met 
me here before , I am the organist in the little chapel 
of St. Xavier’s Place, and I am waiting now for Father 
Atwood, who was to have met me here, to look over 
an organ.” 

After some further conversation, the jolly minister 
came in and took Kate away to the stops and pedals 
again. For a while she busied herself with the man- 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


41 


uals, and tested the compass of the instrument ; the 
workman took up the long metal cylinders and whit- 
tled at the whistles. These sounds were familiar to 
him, and almost constantly echoing through the old 
workshop. But when she had Searched up and down 
the manuals, and through the stops and pedals to her 
satisfaction ; she began to indulge herself in a volun- 
tary, as if for a reward fo!* her tedious professional ex- 
periments , then the music changed, it was no longer 
a handful of chords, as high, or as low, as the noble 
instrument would reach, but a grand harmony of rich 
sounds conveying a mastering spiritual force into the 
souls of her auditors. Then the notes fascinated the 
workman, silently he laid down the heavy pipe, and 
stood listening with folded arms. Simeon Atwood 
was entranced as well. 

Then the door opened slowly, and with great care, 
that the bell might be gently lifted up, without setting 
its sharp tongue tattling. It is the Knight of the 
dripping garments, stealing quietly in with elated 
countenance ; the door is not closed after him, but a 
square head is thrust in, just far enough to let two 
dull eyes focus on the intruder, who unperceived iiad 
gained almost half the distance, from the door to the 
organ, when he made a motion to take off his hat, and 
a few drops in the rim ran into a little stream, and 
pattered down on the floor. Simeon heard just 
enough to turn his eyes that way, but the instant he 
saw the dripping Don, he rushed upon him, like a 
terrier after a rat, and seizing him by the collar firmly 
he bore him triumphantly towards the door. Kate 
vanished in the gloom of the corner. The square- 
headed Sancho never winked his eyes, but tended 


42 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


strictly to business unt’l Simeon crossed the thresh- 
hold with his squirming burden, then he stopped him. 

“You can throw him out into the hall sir.’’ 

“So I have sir,” said Simeon. 

“But you must not touch him here sir, this is a pub- 
lic thoroughfare.” 

“I intend to make it a public thoroughfare for this 
scoundrel, instantly ! ” 

“But you must loose your hold sir, indeed you must,” 
he said as Simeon started again, in spite of his protest, 
with his victim well in hand, evidently preparing to 
throw him headlong down the stairs. 

“You have a right to put him out of that room, but 
I must protect him here.” 

“And who are you ? ” said Simeon, with half a grin 
and half a scowl on his jolly face. 

“I am a deputy sheriff,” and he turned back his coat 
and showed a nickel shield. 

“Do you know this villain .?” 

“No, I can’t say I do, and what is more, I don’t know 
as I would care to say I do, but I must protect him, 
that’s what I am paid for.” 

“Who paid you to take care of him.” 

“He did himself sir. I was sitting on the steps of 
the house this morning, when a stranger came along 
and asked if I was an officer. He gave me five dollars 
to follow him all day and protect him. I followed 
him into a barber shop, where he was shaved; into a 
tobacco shop for a cigar; then, three hours he sat as 
quiet as a turtle, on the house-steps; but at precisely 
at eleven, he started, and led me a chase through the 
rain and mud, to a row of flats, on West 22nd street. 
He sat down on the stone steps opposite those flats in a 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


43 


pouring rain sir, and watched ; I earned my money 
safely, inside the drug store, but this afternoon I saw 
a boy go up into the flat^ and return directly and 
give my wet master some information, for he started 
for this place. I don’t know what your trouble is sir. 
You can thresh him when he is inside sir, but out 
here you had best get a warrant for him.” 

Now the object of all this commotion had not been 
quiet during this conversation, but continually tried 
to impress upon Simeon, that he had some private 
business with him of the greatest importance. He 
now cried with much elation : 

“Yes, ^et out a warrant for me ! Bring this matter 
into court, there at last shall I have justice done me, 
I will expose ” 

Simeon simply slammed the door in his face. 

Kate was now called out of her retreat, and it was 
arranged that Charley should accompany her, down 
a back stairway, through the court and the shoe store 
into the next street. When Simeon went out, the 
wet watcher sat disconsolately on the top stairs, he 
eagerly cried : 

“Did my Kate send out to see me.^* Did she call for 
me.^ O ! tell me, Kate has sent for one word of ex- 
planation to melt the iceberg.?” 

The square-headed officer was earning his five dol- 
lars stoically smoking. When Charley late that night, 
returned for his pail on his way home^ the disconsolate 
lover sat on the top stair still, but his companion had 
evidently considered his money earned at the going 
down of the sun, and had disappeared. Charley was 
a little tender towards him, for had he not been din- 
ing and chatting till this late hour, with the poor fel- 


44 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


low’s darling Kate.^ and there were no icebergs to 
melt. 

The young organ builder soon slipped into the tip- 
sy lawyer’s shoes. 

When Kate opened to Mr. Charley her closet door 
and exposed the skeleton dangling therein, she twisted 
a triple cord to bind them together, and the danger 
of annoyance was a good excuse for his constant at- 
tention. An organ builder and an organist would 
naturaly find much in common between them. 

She loved to watch him manipulate the resonant 
pipes, through which she was wont to draw the sweet 
musical notes. Soon they were sailing through the 
Halcyon seas of love ; love-lorn swain in paper cap 
and tick apron ; simpering lassie in cinnamon silk ; 
but truly there is no unalloyed joy, the base metal in 
their pot, was J. Johnstone Kent, picketing out on the 
top stair. 

If it rained, he was sure to be dripping ; if it was 
dry, he was powdered with dust, but there he sat on 
the outside, while Charley and Kate chatted and 
chummed on the inside, and there he sat, long after 
they had stolen down the back stairs, and until the 
porter came, and led him down into the street and 
locked up with his big key. 

Of course the inevitable hour must come, when two 
loving hearts will touch each other, and the electric 
currents of love leap from soul to soul, but Charley 
never was satisfied with that supreme hour in the 
history of his affections. It was but half a bite of the 
red-ripe cherry. While he was polishing his pipes 
he often thought of his chances, when he should : 

“Put it to the touch, and win or lose it all,” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


45 


His best anticipation was, however, that he could, 
“put it to the touch,” and in one eventful hour, settle 
his fate. There were chances of defeat, but the risks 
would heighten the zest of the victory. He never 
dreamed of a drawn battle, and therein, he afterwards 
found himself mistaken. 

Kate was very gracious and kind to him now. He 
often dined with her in their humble lodgings in the 
flat, in 22nd street, but their confidential conversations 
were always in the old organ shop. If was here the 
die was cast. They were sitting side by side, on the 
backless organ bench, with their hands running over 
the key-boafd, and their feet dangling over the pedals. 
Kate’s little, white fingers danced light as swallow’s 
wings up the high notes on her side of the manual, 
Charley’s big, brown hand, with the grace of power of 
the eagle’s slower sweep,swept over the deep base notes 
in his corner. There came, of course, the inevitable 
movement, when the big hand, and the little white 
fingers approached each other, as the thundering tor- 
rent and the babbling brooklet of sounds ran together 
in a common stream to the center octave, at last, the 
big, brown hand and the little, white fingers collided, 
then what did the big, brown hand do but capture the 
little, white fingers, and Charley cried : 

“Kate ! Kate ! Give me that hand.” 

Perhaps Kate did not know that, just then, the 
attack would be made, perhaps the citadel was not 
surprised, but it would not do to capitulate without a 
show of resistance, but why did she start so suddenly 
that Charley must make a back for their seat with his 
strong arms ? She did not draw away her hand. 
Charley might have seized the whole ripe cherry from 


46 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


those red lips, and sealed his fate, in this lover’s fash- 
ion, but just here, was as far as his love making pro- 
gressed for many a day, for he hesitated, and hesitat- 
ing, was lost. For prudence prompted that he should 
look and ascertain that the senior member of the 
firm was tending striQtly to his books, at the crazy, 
old desk by the door. His gaze did not focus on the 
solemn, thin-faced book-keper, but what he did see 
made him drop the lily-white hand, as if it had been 
a hot coal, and his tender air of love’s advance was 
transformed instantly into stern defence, for there 
stood J. Johnstone Kent, armed to the teeth, with a 
long, metal pipe, which was desending upon his de- 
voted head, like a flail on the threshing floor. 

That was all he ever realised of the red-ripe cherries. 
The flail descended, and he was not conscious of the 
situation thereafter. 

At this juncture, the little bell rang, and Kate’s old 
friend, Ruth Falbert, came in to find her. The tab- 
leaux was interesting. Poor Charley lay prostrate, 
over the pedals, near the overturned organ bench. 
Pale with fear, Kate crowded as far as she was able 
against the manual, and stretched her hands before 
her horrified face. J. Johnstone Kent was down on 
his knees, pouring forth his best protestations of un- 
dying love. The solemn, thin-visaged partner had 
turned over his stool also, and with uplifted hands, 
was crying down the stairs for the police. 

It was a poor opportunity for J. Johnstone to press 
his suit, but it was the only one he had gained for 
many a day, and he improved it well. 

“O my darling Kate ! Listen to me. Your friends 
have slandered me. I do love you. I never dismis- 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 4 ^ 

sed you. You loved me once. Oh say that you love 
me now.’* 

Ruth ran to the water tap, and wetting her hank- 
erchief, washed the blood from Charley's face. Be- 
fore the poor fellow’s eyes opened, she struck an atti- 
tude in the tableau also, for she was transfixed with 
astonishment to see on Charley’s arm, where he had 
pushed the rolled sleeve far above his elbow, as he fell, 
on the brown skin, a deep brand, of a bottle with an 
arrow shot through it. 

The senior partner’s vociferous cries at last brought 
in a detective, just as Charley, becoming conscious^ 
was rubbing his eyes, and looking about to see where 
he had fallen, after he was thrown so suddenly out of 
his lover’s Paradise. 

His energetic rival was taken away, only by the use 
of much force, and Miss Falbert was duly introduced 
to him. Great was the excitement of the two ladies 
over this episode. They talked excitedly, and inces- 
santly, and at last when quite sure that Charley was 
fully recovered, they went out, on Miss Ruth’s urgent 
entreaty. 

That night, when Charley changed the hot band- 
age on his throbbing head, he saw that it was a rich 
lace hankerchief, and in one corner, was worked in 
white silk, ‘'Ruth Falbert.” 

“Ruth.? Ruth.?” he said to himself. “I knew a 
Ru'.h once, this name calls her up. Where is she 
now, bearing in sunshine or shadow, our coipmon 
mark .? I wonder if I shall ever see her again .? ” 



CHAPTER V. 

THE LEATHERN CROCODILE OPENS HIS MOUTH. 



JOHNSTONE KENT walked quiet- 
ly with the officer to the station. A 
little distance behind, followed the 
senior partner, Jacob Blackman, a 
tall, broad-shouldered man, with 
black whiskers jutting out in bushes 
under his ears. A black- silk hat sat 
well back on his head; he never 
smiled or frowned. A solemn mask 
always covered his features. He had 
the air of one who sat in a high 
seat in the synagogue, but in fact, he^ never attended 
church. He was too cold-hearted and selfish to be 
drawn into the warm, social life of an ordinary con- 
gregation, and prided himself on a morality that was 
•so far above the average, that he thought he did not 
need the usual means of grace. 



THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


49 


He sat at the desk in the old organ factory and 
carefuly kept the books, but did not, interest himself 
in the daily life of the shop ; he was as unmoved as a 
rock, amid the streams of music and laughter that 
rippled through the old place of a sunny afternoon. 

But a wonderful thing had happened. The heart 
that lay within this solemn old case, had been touched 
by the flash of a bright eye. Kate shot many a weap- 
on at random, and one hit a mark the archer never 
meant ; and no one else in the shop even dreamed 
that Black Jake ever saw the fair organist as she flit- 
ted in and out of the shadows of the old factory. 

But he had seen with an evil eye, the little love 
passages on the organ bench, and his dry heart boun- 
ded with wicked delight to see one of his rivals roll 
over in his blood ; and he jogged on, with a good de- 
termination to see the other safe behind the prison 
bars. 

In turning into the next street the disconsolate 
prisoner saw him, and immediately began an inter- 
view with him. 

“I saw you Mr. Book-keeper at your desk. I pre- 
sume sir that you are acquainted with Kate Rains- 
wirth ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“And you know her father and perhaps have some 
influence with him 

“I have met him in business.” 

“And you may have heard of me, J. Johnstone Kent, 
attorney and councilor at law .?” 

“No sir, I have not.” 

“Well sir, you can help me.” 

“I did not come to help you sir, after such an 


50 THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 

aggravated assault you should be incarcerated.” 

•‘Oh, never mind that. I am a lawyer, I know that 
I cannot be held. It was a dastardly insult to my 
affiance, and in my presence — defence: resentment of 
an outrageous insult to my affiance — sentence “served 
him right, should have struck him twice.” But, you 
can assist me in a matter of* far more importance. I 
desire an interview with Miss Kate. I would like to 
have you explain to Miss Kate, how dearly I love 
her.” 

As the lawyer rattled on, something of the true 
state of the case, dawned over the guileful. Jacob’s 
mind. He saw that he had nothing to fear from this 
crazy rival; that Charley was his only formidable 
enemy; he thought that he might need the lawyer to 
crush his rival. 

And thus was accounted for, the strange fact, that 
when the officer reported his prisoner, a tall and dig- 
nified gentleman appeared with him and explained to 
the Recorder, that it was not a case of aggravated 
assault, but two hot-headed rivals had indulged in a 
slight “scrimmage,” and for fear of consequences he 
had called in the officer a little prematurely; he would 
vouch for the good standing of the prisoner and would 
not press any complaint. 

“Your Honor, I was engaged to Miss Kate three 
years ago, and when I saw a young “snip,” in a paper 
cap and tick apron trying to kiss her; when I con- 
sider the ground she treads on too sacred for me to 
kiss; I could not restrain myself. I submit it to you 
sir. Could you sir.?” 

“No, no; I would have struck him twice! Next 


case. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 5 I 

*• 

The guileful Jacob sat at his desk, his black-weeded 
halt carefuly shelved on a pile of brown ledgers. 

The shopmen glanced at him, as they might have 
looked at an old fashioned clock case, if it had stood 
in the dusty corner for years ; but the old gentleman’s 
mind was not working as placidly as the ticking of a 
tall time-keeper, and Charley as he stood at his bench, 
with a big bruise on his forehead, would have awak- 
ened out of his day dreams, if he had known what 
really was going on behind that solemn mask. 

He was ostensibly entering figures in his journal, 
with his accustomed exactness ; but really he was 
computing his chances in a struggle with his young 
workman for the hand of the fair organist. 

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Charley. 

“Yes,” he said to himself, “he is young, graceful, 
vigorous ; young women like these goodly gifts, and 
I am somewhat old ; I am stiff and dry, but money 
will tell ; money wins ; no power can resist success- 
fully, the. steady force of money. Charley is poor, 
and I am rich, this is a mere matter of business.” 

And then his mind went on to his dull house up 
town, with many serious resolutions of reform in ex- 
isting customs up there, that would have torpedoed 
his cross housekeeper and his pert neice, if they had 
been mind readers. 

At last he proceeded to this “mere matter of busi- 
ness,” and this is the precious epistle he wrote, from 
date to signature first-hand, and indeed, without 
stumbling over a single word : 

Office of J. Blackman & Co., ) 
Organ Builders, V 

Terms Cash. 1258 Florida Street. ) 

Miss Kate Rainswirth, 

Dear Madam : — 

I hereby offer to marry you, 
on or before the first day of January next, at such 
time and place as you may designate ; upon the fol- 
lowing terms namely : 


52 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


First ; upon the written acceptance of this offer I 
promise to cause to be conveyed to you, a mortgage 
upon this building, No. 1258 Florida street, for the 
sum of $1,000.00, and upon the day of our marriage, 
the further gift of a mortgage upon my house. No. 404 
Hyacinthe street, of $10,000, and during our married 
life, I promise to place each year, in the Builder’s Bank 
subject to your order, the sum of $4,000.00. 

We will be pleased to hear from you at your earliest 
convenience. 

Jacob Blackman. 


“They have hooked on to a customer, who wishes 
to hear that new organ played by an ej^pert,” said 
Kate, as she discovered the familiar business envelope 
of Blackman’s factory, on her table. 

When she read the contents, she was profoundly 
surprised ; then she was exceedingly mad ; she tore 
the letter into pieces ; she stamped upon them with 
her feet : 

“I ought to show that horrid note to Charley.” 

She sobbed and cried bitterly. 

“He would crush the dreadful wretch as he would a 
spider ; the horrible old daddy long legs ; with his 
evil eyes ; his leathern cheeks ; his stumpy teeth, and 
his mouldy breath ; I wish I had him here ! I would 
give him his answer with this, and she grasped a 
heavy, bronze inkhorn, with so much anger to hurl at 
the imaginary decrepit reptile, that she spilled the 
ink on her white hands, “but I will answer him ! ” 

She wrote hastily : 


Sir 


The Everglade. ) 
New York. ) 


I herewith return your insulting note, 
after having torn it in pieces and stamped upon it, in 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


53 


my wrath, under my feet; you horrible old crocodile. 
A certain friend of mine will resent this insult to-mor- 
row, with a horsewhip. 

ONE WHOM YOU CANNOT BUY. 

Kate felt better, and dried her tears. Just before 
she sealed the wrathy note, she reached down to in- 
close some of the pieces of Jacob’s business like com- 
munication ; $1,000, stared at her from one broad, 
white slip; $10,000, turned up on another; $4,000 
per annum on a third. For an instant she could see 
only an indefinite multitude of ciphers, and dollar 
marks dancing in the air, a powerful spell those figures 
possessed. Let the hateful snake once get the eye 
of the pretty bird and she is bewitched, these figures 
fascinated Kate, she forgot Charley ; she forgot the 
mouldy, old Daddylonglegs; she saw only $10,000. 
Thereupon she tore up the missive of her fiery indig- 
nation. 

“Such a generous offer,” she said, “should be re- 
fused more civilly. He meant all right.” 

She deferred her answer until morning, then she 
wrote : 

The Everglades. ) 
Saturday Morning, f 

My Dear Sir : — 

I am surprised that you should 
honor me with such a flattering offer ; I regret that I 
cannot accept your kind proposal, but I deeply ap- 
preciate the spirit in which it is made, and must ever 
consider you as a dear friend. 

Affect’ly Yours, 

Kate Rainswirth. 

Again her eyes were glued to those ciphers on the 
bits of Jacob’s letter, which she had now gathered 
with care and pasted on a paper back. 


54 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


She let the stamp dry again without affixing it. 

“I won’t refuse such an offer in a moment; there is 
no varnish with it, but after all, what value is a little 
varnish ? it is the solid wood that holds up the table; 
it is Gold and not Love, that puts the loaf thereon. 
He is very old; he must die within a reasonable time.” 

She tore up the second note and wrote quickly, as 
one swallows physic : 

The Everglades. ) 
Saturday Morning. ) 

My Dear Friend 

Your business-like offer, 
I accept, in the same spirit that it is written, and beg 
to name Jan. ist, as the day. 

Your Dear Friend, 

Kate Rainswirth. 

Poor Charley ! how beautiful his fresh, honest face; 
how manly his vigorous, shapely form; how noble his 
love ! ‘Black Jake ! ’ how old and dry and deceitful; 
I hate him ! ” 

And then she tore up the third note, and so on, to 
the tenth. She finally sent the eleventh, which read: 

The Everglades. ) 
Saturday Morning, f 

My Dear Friend : — 

Your note has so greatly 
surprised me, and the kind offer you make me, would 
cause such a complete change in my life, that I am 
sure you will understand that I must have some little 
time to consider the conditions therein mentioned. 

With great respect, I remain 
Your Friend 

Kate Rainswirth. 

And this is the reason why Charley did not have 
the second bite at the red-ripe cherries. 

Kate was very affectionate, and even ardent, in her 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


55 


intercourse, but just the right chance to take up the 
thread that the pipe sabre of his irate rival had sev- 
ered, never came, and just the fruit of his victory that 
Charley coveted, the certainty of his fate, he could 
not obtain. Thus, while Kate was making up her 
mind between Love and Gold, she kept old Daddy- 
longlegs and young Charley both on the “tenter hooks.” 




CHAPTER VI. 

“AULD ROBIN GRAY.” 

T WAS while Charley was head- 
over-heels in love with Kate, that 
he came to know Rufus Hemmer. 

He met him at Lamphrey’s studio. 
That young sculptor “drifted” into 
the old factory just before six o’clock 
and carried Charley off to his room 
up six flights of stairs, on Broadway. 

A cheerful fire burned in the grate. 
Lamphrey was forced through lack 
of means to cut his own marble, 
and in the corner of the room on a bench, lay the 
plaster cast of an ideal head and bust prone upon 
its back, and near it, in a similar position, lay 
a rough fac-simile in marble, speckled all over 
with a spider like instrument, in whose feet were 
little points that were screwed down to the 
eyes and nose and cheeks of the clay Juno, and 



THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


57 


then transfered to the marble ; the patient workman 
chiselled until they touched likewise the eyes and. 
lips of the Juno that was to be, that lay imprisoned 
in the white stone. 

In another corner was rolled the stand with the 
clay model covered with its zinc cap to keep it moist. 

Bartolf, although he had borrowed a place in the 
studio to work a little while, was as much at home 
there as if he owned the room. He rushed briskly in 
from the grocer’s, with a hugh, covered basket. He 
opened a small, red door to a closet in the wall ; his 
touch seemed to turn the lumber of this little room 
into any kind of furniture that was needed. Several 
boxes were arranged, just in the right line, and lo! 
there was a long table across the room, covered with 
red-and-green screen cloths, brilliant in the firelight ; 
trunks and chests were transformed into seats, and an 
empty barrel was forced to do duty as a side-board ; 
wonderful were the resources of that little hole in the 
wall, from it emerged cups and plates, spoons and 
knives ; the kettle was boiling up there on a little oil 
furnace. And in a surprisingly short time, a crude 
dinner was served by Bartolf, of cakes and coffee. 

After the simple repast had been attacked with 
vigor, for the Bohemian’s appetite is always good, the 
group, one by one, deserted the table to gather 
around the grate, where a weak-faced man was busy 
with a porringer of punch ; others were lighting pipes 
and cigars. The course of the conversation was laid, 
when Mr. Small, a thin, pale-faced musician called the 
attention of the group to a tall man, with bent form, 
long, gray beard and anxious look, whose circular col- 
lar marked him for a clergyman. 


58 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


“Well, Father Tom, how came you here ?” 

Before he could answer, Bartolf cried out : 

“All right ; the storm of infidelity drives artists, poets 
and priests under the same eaves for shelter.” 

“Yes,” said Father Tom, “Art, Music and Religion 
must group together in mutual defense against a com- 
mon enemy.” 

“How does a priest define Art.?” said the musician. 

“Art, Poetry and Music,” said Father Tom, as he 
laid his hand with a burning cigar between his fingers, 
firmly down on the table, “these are the results of in- 
tense efforts of earnest men to express for the com- 
mon benefit, what individuals rarely gifted, have re- 
ceived of N ature’s revelations. This struggle to form- 
ulate the mystic language of Nature. in her rare moods, 
has always resulted in partial failure.” 

“I believe,” said the sculptor, whose voice was 
sweet and clear, his eyes frank and true and his face 
bright with hope. “I believe that these powerful 
intimations of another life, awakened in us by the ex- 
quisite products of Nature’s machinery, are not mere 
compliments of our miseries; the wind gently vibrat- 
ing the myriad harp strings of the pine woods on the 
mountain side at twilight; the majestic unfurling of 
the hugh, blood-red banners at the gates of day; the 
sun sinking in the dark, empurpled ocean; the morn- 
ing stars rising from the silent plains of slumbering 
seas, are not mocking reflections of our agonies; these 
are intimations of our immortality ! ” 

“I was riding,” said he, as he lit his cigar and threw 
the match in the grate, “in a crowded car. Men 
were talking of sheep and grass, sugar and illegal 
voting and fast horses. A sudden turn southward, 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


59 


and the great, wide windows opened the wall of the 
car to an effective, western sky. Conversation ceased; 
all eyes were drawn westward. The car shot on, with 
jar and hiss and whirl, into the night. Men were 
hurled towards heavy labor, anxiety, sick rooms, fu- 
nerals or weddings, but until the glimmering gold 
paled in the western sky, they forgot their destina- 
tions; conversation died away; a ‘spell’ was on them 
all ” 

“Then, you^were dreaming,” said the medical stu- 
dent, who was watching the steaming porringer, with 
some satisfaction. “That effect in the sky existed 
only in the retina of the eye. Those colors were sim- 
ply the result of motion, caused by the refraction of 
rays of light from the sun, in vapors, in low ranges of 
atmosphere.” 

“Yes,” said the speaker, “the telegraph-sounder is 
but tinkling brass, but it tells me, that my ‘St. Agnes 
was sold to-day, in Boston, and I go to Europe with 
the money, from a telegraph order ! ” 

“My dear friend,” said the priest, “you are not far 
from the Kingdom of God. There is a Book that does 
not destroy an intimation of Nature’s mystic revela- 
tions, but deepens and widens the glorious tones and 
gives the mystic music words. The mysterious yearn- 
ings that a true man feels when he looks straight in- 
to the western sky, forcing him to cry : 

‘Come forth ye drooping old men look abroad. 

And see to what fair countries ye are bound.’ 
That, a true man feels when he reads the Apocalypse. 
The murmuring thunder of the cataract; the loud re- 
sounding waves that beat the shore; the vast, silver 
plains of moonlit seas, reappear in the glorious im- 


6o 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


agery of the prophets of God, The Bible is the com- 
plement of Nature‘s revelations” 

“There you are,” said the sculptor, “I told you Art, 
Poetry and Religion must make a fight against a com- 
mon foe; henceforth they must entrench themselves 
in the same temples, and around the same altars.” 

In the meantime, the porringer had been taken in- 
to the corner. The weak-face man now was a silly- 
faced brute; he said many things he would have left un- 
said, if his tongue had not been loosened by the punch. 

“That Father Tom is preaching, /am a Christian 
too; a deuced poor one, but I can sing: 

Tf you get there before I do. 

Just tell them I am coming too.’ 

Did you ever hear the story of the ailing Chinaman.^ 
who, when the doctor wrote him a prescription for 
the ‘shakes,’ and told him to, ‘take that,’ forthwith 
swallowed the written paper, and had so much faith 
in his doctor that he went his way and shook no more. * 
And thus the evening wore on, men talked of 
statues, of books, of pictures, of the opera and the 
theater, of the sea, of the mountains, of men and 
women. At eleven o‘clock, a little, red-haired, boyish 
man came in from Wallack’s, where he had been play- 
ing in tragedy, and the group around the punch, “egged 
him on” to rant a little as he had learned of Edwin 
Forrest, but reaching for a flute, he took the key and 
sang “Auld Robin Gray.” 

And Charley looked into the grate and saw the fire- 
pictures of old Mr. Robin and young Mrs. Robin. 

The coal cracks and he starts ! Old Robin is a 
perfect silhouette, black against the curling flames 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


6l 


ofold Black Jake ; his gaunt cheeks ; his black-weeded 
hat ; his solemn visage, a photograph would not give 
a better likeness, and our young Mrs. Robin chanting 
her mournful lament, is a perfect picture of Kate. 

“What an absurd idea ! ” said Charley, before he 
thought where he was. 

“What is an absurd idea ? ” said the singer. 

“Only,” said Charley, waking up, “that the young 
lassie should marry the old man.” 

“Not so absurd if the old man had plenty of mon- 
ey ! ” 

''He has one million !” 

“Who has one million } ” 

“Old Robin Gray. * * * Would a girl sell her- 

self for money.? Would Kate sell herself to that old 
leathern mummy for a share in his million .? Yes ! 
how absurd.” 

The fire burned on, turning the great coal into ashes, 
but it only elongated old Robin’s hat, and twisted his 
solemn nose, and curled the c»'uel lips into a closer 
caricature of Black Jake; while Kate’s profile lost 
none of its striking resemblance, but as the fiery 
flames had advanced, eating up the black coal, the 
lines had lengthened ; the cheeks had sunken in. It 
was Kate, but thin and ashen pale. 

Yes, it was absurd to allow a picture in the fire' to 
awaken such a cold suspicion — if he had tasted the 
punch — but then, he only indulged in coffee. 



CHAPTER VIL 

DAN. WELSH. 

AN. WELSH was a retail deal- 
er in clothes that were slightly 
“off color” in society. His old 
stand was the street store, in a 
dreary, seven-story block, on 
the Bowery. 

Welsh held the lease, and re- 
let the upper rooms ‘for small 
business. He was responsible 
to the insurance company for the closing of the dark 
hallway, at 6 P. M. 

Welsh was known far and near, as a “pot-house” 
politician of the rougher sort. He was a hard hitter, 
an ex-prize-fighter and a cruel “savage,” generally. 

He sat all the day, at the end of the counter nearest 
the street, and talked politics with a group of the 
roughest characters in the precinct. . Behind this 



THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 63 

counter he kept within easy reach, a cutlass, a police- 
man’s club and two, heavy pistols. 

If a customer came in, and picked up a coat, Dan. 
would make some show of civility ; rubbing dov/n 
the nap with his big fist, and remarking : 

“That’s a foi’n coat sir.” 

But woe to the unlucky visitor, if after trying to fit 
himself with the old-fashioned, rusty garment, he 
should edge toward the door, saying : 

“I will see about it,” or “I will call again.” 

Dan’s enforced civility would drop, and swelling 
with anger, he would often seize his victim, and with 
great violence hurl him out of the store : 

“You did not want to buy a coat sir! You have 
not money enough to buy a handkerchief I 

One afternoon, Brutus Bristol, aged fourteen, green 
and gaunt, stalked soberly into the den. He had ran • 
away from his home in Pennsylvania, with a circus 
agent, who had made him useful, pasting immense 
bills, on barns and fences, in the country. 

When this agent, who was an ex-actor, parted 
company with Brutus, he made him promise to meet 
him at a certain cheap hotel in New York. By “hard 
pinching,” the boy got there at the appointed time. 

The advance agent, in the country, might have 
been a lion, but in the city he had dwindled into a 
very lean mouse, and borrowed of Brutus his last 
dime, to get something at the bar, for his head, that 
ached so that he could not think. When he came 
back with ten cents worth of “cobbling” done to his 
his head ; he thought to this end : that Brutus had 
better start out at once ; hire a small room, where he 
could sleep and study. The Bowery was the place 


64 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


where rooms were cheap. He must sleep all night in 
this room, and pitch into something in the morning 
taearn what he might need to eat. 

“Not a very cheerful prospect,” thought Brutus. 

But he was of a brave and cheerful disposition. 
Up, he went, on his hunt for a cheap room, to the 
Cooper Institute, and down on the other side, until 
the notice : “a small room to let, $^,oo per. month,” 
drew the boy into Dan. Welsh’s store. 

Already the evening shadows began to chill the 
little fellow’s theatrical aspirations. 

Dan. appalled him. If he could have gone, back 
he would have ran briskly home ; but the gates were 
closed behind him ; the last plank of the bridge, the 
advance agent had burned at the bar. 

“Do you want to buy a coat ? ” bawled the savage 
• monster, from behind his battery. 

“I want to rent that room.” 

“What do want of a room ? ” 

“I want to live in it.” 

'‘'Want to live in it f Now, I suppose you have a 
wife and six children. Tain’t that kind of a room. 
Clear out of here ! 

The boy cleared out as fast as his tired limbs would 
carry him, and watched for “rooms to let,” but he 
found no terms suited to his small capital. 

Just before six P. M., he appeared again before the 
burly Dan. with fear and trembling. 

“What do you want } Oh, you are the real estate 
gent from the country. Have you leased the Fifth 
Avenue, hotel ? ” 

“I want to hire that little room, up stairs.” 

“There is no one lives in this block after six o’clock. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 65 

I lock up the hall door with that big- key, and ‘them’s 
that’s out, stays out.’” 

I would be in every night, before six o’clock.” 

“You could not put up a stove, there is no pipe 
hole, and the insurance company will not allow any 
more pipe holes to be cut in this building.” 

“I have no stove.” 

Just then the bookbinder, up in No. 40, came down 
to tell Dan. that the boxmaker, in No. 41, was on the 
move. Dan. told the boy to watch the store, and 
taking his club, hurried up stairs. He broke opqn 
No. 41, but there was nothing to show for his rent 
money, but a few empty boxes. His tenants had a 
habit of runing away before pay-day, and do his best 
he could not always discover the premonitory signs 
of the exodus. 

Coming down stairs slowly, cursing and growling, 
he determined to let the boy have the room, and 
make him useful as a spy on the movements of his 
rascally tenants. 

Meanwhile, the boy sat screwing around on the 
round-headed stool, in great anxiety of mind. The 
six-o’clock whistle began to blow ; he was still more 
alarmed at the angry countenance of Dan. when he 
returned, tearing his hair, and branishing his club at 
the defaulting tenant, who was luckily out of his reach. 
He fairly shouted in the boy’s ears : 

“Where’s your two dollars 

“I haven’t two cents ! ” 

“What can you ‘put up’ to secure my pay 

The boy took out his pocket-book, and drew out 
the only articles therein, a steel ring, with two brass 
keys, and a small piece of gold that looked like money 


66 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


but was a foreign medal. It would hardly pass muster 
for two dollars. The boy looked at the keys, and 
tears came into his eyes ; he had evidently reached 
the last extremity, and was doubting whether he had 
not better take the chances and die in the street be- 
fore he parted with his treasure, but Dan. took it 
rudely from him, and going into the hall, took down 
a big brass key and locked the two doors, and hang- 
ing it up again, sent the boy up stairs to No. 51, a 
little room at the very top. Closing the lockless door 
as well as he could, he laid down on the bare floor, 
and pulling the collar of his topcoat over his eyes, 
was soon fast asleep. 

The next day he met his old friend, and before 
night he was stirring vile mixtures in old vessels, for 
the scene painters, on the dreary stage of the theater. 
Happy as a lark, that, even in so humble a way, he 
had made a begining in his chosen profession. 

Some days he earned enough for three meals, and 
sometimes, only enough for one ; often he went with- 
out, and every night he curled up under the window, 
on the bare floor. 

He saw enough of Dan. to cause him the greatest 
alarm, lest he should offend him, but he was always 
sure to be in before six o’clock. 

At the end of the week, however, under the tuition 
of his friend, he slipped down, and tremblingly taking 
the big key, he let himself out, and locking the door 
he went to the theater with the big key in his pocket. 
When he came back, he noticed the policeman just 
ahead of him, try all the doors, shaking them well to 
see if they were locked. 

It was just one week after this, that he forgot to 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 67 

lock the door after him, when he went to bed on the 
floor. 

The horrible fear that seized him every night, as he 
lay down alone, in that great, empty building, had 
just given way to pleasant dreams, when he was 
awakened by loud sounds in the hall, away down the 
dark well of stairs. Rap — rap — rap — the fatal sound 
rises louder and nearer. His first thought was, to run 
up in the attic and hide, but he knew it was the police- 
man, striking his club on the stairs. He had forgotten 
to lock the door ! The fatal key was in his pocket. 
What would old Dan. say to him, when the police- 
man should interview him in the morning ? 

Shivering with fear, he rose to go down and surren- 
der to the enemy, but his heart sank within him and he 
sat down on the top stair. Rap — rap — rap — came 
from below. Slowly but steadily the sounds grew 
louder ; at last the bluecoat turns into the moonlight 
at the foot of the stairs. He seems satisfied that there 
is no burglar, that Dan. has forgotten to lock the 
door, and turns to descend. 

The boy knows that this will not do ; he tries to 
call, but his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. 
At last, scarcely above a whisper, he cries : 

“Halloo mister.” 

The bluecoat looks up in great surprise, there is no 
rough burglar, but a little, pale, trembling boy, who 
sits in the moonlight, on the topmost stair. 

“I forgot to lock the door ; please don’t tell old 
Dam” 

“Well, old Dan. would kill you ! But I must tell 
the company.” 

“O don’t ; please don’t.” 


68 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


Now, there was a little “Bluecoat No. 2,” just the 
age of that pale boy, and the thought of him, sitting 
there all alone, and of old Dan, made it hard for the 
great policeman to swallow. He let the boy go down 
with him and lock the door, promising to keep still 
this time. 

“But mind you, it must not happen again ! ” 

Gustavus Carlsbad, was the name of Brutus’s friend. 
Gusbad, as he was called for short, or, as some thought 
because of his shiftless and bibulous habits. 

These enemies had steadily beaten him down, from 
a clever provincial actor, to an extra “supe,” in the 
winter and an advance agent of a very small circus, 
in the summer. 

Brutus often shared with him his “bed and board,” 
and in return, after they had heard the “enemy” lock 
the doors and hang up the big key, he would rant and 
strut and make the empty halls ring with his examples 
of stage elocution, to the great delight of Brutus, who 
imitated closely every note and gesture. And when 
he was alone he kept himself warm repeating the les- 
son. For the most part, the little cockroaches that 
crept out from the cracks of the door, were his only 
companions. The antics of these little creatures 
amused him, and often he gave them the familiar char- 
acters in the play he was rehearsing. 

“Clarence is come ! ” he would cry and then throw 
himself backwards as the litUe, black Brakenbury 
peeped out from under the door, and watching his 
chance, boldly marches out on the “stage.” 

“Clarence is come, — false, fleeting, perjured Clar- 
ence; 

That stabbed me in the field of Tewksbury.” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


69 


‘Seize on him Furies ! ” 

“Ho ! who’s there 

“What would thou, fellow and how earnest thou 
hither ? ” 

“I would speak with Clarence, and I came here on 
my legs.” 

He delighted in the study of his profession, as it 
was illustrated in the acting of the great tragedians, 
but in these nightly sorties he was in constant fear 
that he would forget to lock his door, and he shivered 
as he thought of the settlement with Dan., if he dis- 
covered the neglect. 

One night, he came in with his head full of Hamlet 
and only when the big key punched his ribs, as he 
curled up on the floor, did he realize that he had for- 
gotten to lock the door. Down, through the halls and 
stairs he flew to reach the doors before a policeman 
should tramp by. Every second he expected to hear 
the fatal rap on the stairs. 

He was horrified to find the doors open, and some 
one sitting on the lowest step. At first, he took him 
for his old friend, the policeman, but he found a drunk- 
en man. 

“You must go away from this place,” he said. 

“Very good place to sleep ; fact’s my own house. 
I knew it by the big watch across the way.” 

“But I must lock the door ! ” 

“Then lock the door, my boy.” 

In his desperation, the boy seizes the man by the 
codar. He must be put out before the officer comes 
by. The man tugged at Eis hip pocket unsteadily 
until Brutus saw something ugly shining in the moon- 
light. 


70 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


The boy locked the door, and sat down to wait. 

He was wild with alarm, when his companion tried 
to sing, in a maudlin way : 

‘■Rock a’bye baby in the tree top ; 

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.” 

But the man soon stupidly slept. Hour after hour, 
Brutus watched, wondering if the man would be sober 
enough to go about his business in the morning — but 
at last — he fell asleep also. 

At break of day, the old man awoke, rubbed his 
eyes, stared at the old hall with a puzzled look, eyed 
the sleeping boy, cunningly turned the key in the 
door and departed. 

The sun rose ; the carts began to rattle ; the milk- 
men screamed ; the torrent of laborers poured down 
the walk, but Brutus slept well. 

He was dreaming of the time when the desire of 
his soul was gratified, and he stands before the foot- 
lights, in armor clad, and shouting : 

“Draw, archers ; draw your arrows to the head ; 

Spur your horses hard, and ride in blood.” 

The footlights exploded into a million stars ; the 
vast ampitheater whirls the prosceniun pillars fall 
with deafening crash — when poor Brutus jumps — and 
stumbling, rolls to the foot of the stairs, where a 
policeman stands in the open door, while big Dan. 
had crawled up and “fetched” Brutus a crack on the 
skull with a weapon from his battery. 

It was a bitter awakening for the boy. He made a 
break for liberty through the open door, but was 
caught by the officer. 

“What will Ave dp with the little rat ? ” 

“Take him to the station,” said Dan. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. /I 

“What for ? I can’t take in every boy who is found 
sleeping in a hallway. Tain’t ’sault and battery.” 

“He left that door open ! ” 

“That’s your lookout. I must report to the insur- 
ance company.” 

“It will spoil the insurance. They will tell the 
owners, and they will come down on me.” 

“Let me go,” said the boy. 

Oh yes ! I’ll let you go, said Dan., and seizing him, 
he carried him into the store. 

“You stay there,” said he, “if you cross in front o^ 
this counter, or make for that door, I’ll fire the pistol; 
I’ll cut off your head with the cutlass ; I’ll give you 
another taste of my locust.” 

There the boy sat, heart-sick and afraid. At eleven, 
one of the tenants came down and whispered, that 
the owner of the building was up stairs, making 
a great row, because the insurance company had sent 
notice, that the conditions of their policy were vio- 
lated. 

“He’s mighty cross. Look out, when he comes 
down ! ” 

“I’ve the boy that did the mischief Ah ! my foin 
fellow, you’ll catch it when the old man comes down !’ 

“Please sir let me go,” cried Brutus, trembling with 
terror I won’t come back any more.” 

“Who will pay my two dollars /’ ” 

“You have got my gold piece. O give me my 
gold piece and let me go ! ” 

But it was too late. Slowly he heard the old man 
coming down the stairs, growling : 

“Who left that hall door open 

“Here’s the chap,” said Dan. 


72 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


Brutus turned to meet his enemy, for he was brave 
of heart — when to his surprise — there stood his com- 
panion of the night ! 

Great was the surprise of Brutus, when he found in 
his drunken bed-fellow of the night, the owner of the 
block. 

“Is this the little rat that crept in and left my hall 
open, last night } Do you know sir, if my great block 
had burned last night, I could not have obtained any 
insurance 

By this time, Brutus had got his breath again, and 
proposed to have something to say. 

“You are the ” 

“Boy, who are you } ” cries Moses, interrupting him. 

“Where do you come from } What business have 
you in my block } ” 

“I only sleep in the little room.” 

“And you’ll not be sleeping there any more, my 
foin fellow. Where’s my two dollars rent } ” said Dan. 

“I have no money.” 

“Ye have no money ! What did you rent the 
room for } but I’ll have yer body. I have a sum- 
mons for yer ! I have it in me hat.” And Dan., after 
his custom, was about to seize the trembling Brutus, 
and cast him headlong into thp Bowery. 

But the grim old man interfered ; grasping him 
firmly by the collar, he growled : 

“I will make an example of this young vagabond. 
I will teach your tenants to leave the doors open, and 
endanger thirty thousand dollars worth of property ! ’’ 
And thereupon, he “hustled” him out of the store, and 
around the corner, into the next street. Looking 
around to see that they were not followed, he let 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 73 

go his hold ; put his finger to one side of his nose, 
and quietly laughed. 

“Mum’s the word, my boy.” 

“You know'I locked the door.” 

“Yes, you are right there. I left the hall unlocked, 
but I don’t care to have it published in the Herald; 
promise that you will keep still about our ‘hotel’ last 
night, and I will take you to lunch with me. If we 
had a hard bed, we will have a good meal.” 

The boy was loath to go, but he was faint from loss 
of blood, for Dan’s club had hit him hard, and he was 
worn out with the watching of the night, and the 
alarm of the morning. They took a car down town, 
and crossed the ferry. Here the boy was so wilted 
that the old man called a carriage, and drove to St. 
Xavier’s Place. 

He was evidently suffering great pain from the 
wound on his head, and moaned incoherently when 
Simeon put him to bed. Ruth sent to Pliny Avenue, 
for doctor Ethel Prackett, a calm, well-poised woman, 
with sad eyes, firm lips ; dressed in gray, with a gold 
cross on her bosom. As she sponged the blood and 
tears from the boy’s face, she stopped and gazed for a 
a long time at the pale features, then calling Ruth, she 
asks : 

“Does that boy look like me } ” 

Ruth looked, first a<- PThel, then at the boy : 

“There is a striking resemblance.” 

■‘He is a perfect picture of my mother.” 

“Why, I thought doctor, you were ” 

“A foundling ; don’t be afraid of my feelings — phy- 
sicians ought not to be sensitive.” 

“I was told you were brought up in the asylum 


74 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


“And ‘that I was an abandoned child,’ but I never 
admitted that. I believe that I have a mother, and 
that I shall find her yet. There was found around my 
neck, a brass locket, with a small daguerreotype of a 
woman's face, that I think is my mother’s.” And she 
took from her bosom, the plain, brass ornament, and 
opening it, asked Ruth to look. There was a cheap 
picture of a woman, in garments of foreign fashion, 
but the resemblance of the three faces was unmistak- 
able. 

“Who is that boy ? ” said the doctor. 

“Moses knows. He found him living alone like a 
a rat, over in the block. He had no stove or bed in 
his room. He is studying to be an actor.” 

‘I tell you he is my brother ; I see my mother in 
his face.” 

“But wait — save yourself from bitter disappoint- 
ment ; there are many striking resemblances.” 

“I feel that he is my brother ; I cannot be mistaken.” 

Meanwhile, the boy lay and moaned : 

“I’ll pay the rent, sir — Don’t shoot me — Come little 
black supes, it’s time to rehearse — A horse ! a horse ! 
my kingdom for a horse — Around her form I draw 
the awful circle — I forgot to lock the door — Don’t tell 
Dan ; please don’t — I never will forget it again — Gus 
Bad don’t drink any more ; they wont let us in to see 
Hamlet to-night — Clarence is come ! — Don’t strike 
me with that cutlass again ; I’ll pay.” 

And as day by day his face grew more pinched and 
pale', the strange resemblance to his doctor grew more 
striking. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE LEATHERN CROCODILE SNAPS HIS JAWS. 



HE ORGAN was bought for the 
church in St. Xavier’s Place, and 
Charley Clinton was sent over to 
superintend its erection. 

Kate Rainswirth and her friend, 
/ Ruth Falbert, often came into the 
church, while it was strewn from 
porch to chancel, with big and little 
pipes. 

Every day since that uncanny fire- 
picture had burned itself into Charley’s imagination, 
he had sought to catch Kate alone. He watched the 
organ bench, but Kate always brought Ruth with her. 
Kate knew when he must come and go, but she always 
went just before or was delayed beyond the noon-hour. 

He was cordially received in Simeon’s household, 
and was charmed by Ruth’s direct frankness. 


76 THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 

“If Ruth were in Kate’s place,” he caught himself 
saying, “she would not keep me ‘hanging by the gills’ 
all this time ! ” 

Neither was old Daddylonglegs well pleased to be 
hanging on the “tenter hooks.” 

His “noble offer” was not rejected, neither was it 
accepted. 

“I sent her a plain, business-like proposition,” he 
reasoned, “and I think I should have received by this 
time, a business-like answer, only for that young spoon- 
ey of a tuner. I wish the crazy pettifogger had hit 
him a trifle harder, while he was about it, and saved 
me the trouble — for as sure as there is a ” 

And now the baleful fires of jealousy flare up in the 
old man’s dark heart. And if Charley could only 
have seen the vials of destruction, he then and there 
planned to break on his devoted head, he too, would 
have hired a constable to follow him. 

How long Kate would have kept old Pluto and 
young Cupid cooling their heels on the front stoop of 
her heart, will never be known. Just now she stood 
vibrating between love and money, like the famous 
picture of the fair Goddess, with one hand in the warm 
grasp of her lover, and the other plunged to the wrist 
in cold, gold dollars. 

Charley grew impatient and suspicious, and an ac- 
cident added to his fire-picture, a more substantial 
clue to the true state of affairs. 

Poor fellow he had never loved before, and he 
measured all the handiwork of Cupid by the deep, 
permeating poison his shaft had instilled in his own 
heart. 

He would not play false with Kate — no, not if the 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


77 


Queen of Sheba offered to marry him. Like all lovers, 
he fell into the way of being very confidential with 
the friends of his mistress. 

He met Ruth Falbert very often in the church 
during the erection of the organ, and he had gone so 
far as to raise an argument with her, after he heard 
her humming : 

“Just for a handful of silver he left us.” 

“You don’t think. Miss Falbert, that Browning 
could have written that thrilling accusation of a wom- 
an > ” 

“Why not.?” 

“You never heard of a female Judas.” 

“What of Gertrude, the mother of Hamlet .?” 

“Was she bought with a handful of silver 

“What of Mrs. Robin Gray .? ” 

Charley paled and winced, but replied : 

“You are still in the realm of Romance.” 

“Beware ! women' have sold their hearts to the 
highest bidder.” 

“You would not teach me — you a woman too — that 
there is no love in a woman’s heart strong enough to 
resist the base love of gold .? ” 

“Not I ; but what would you have the poor lassie 
do .? She must have a roof over her head ; clothes on 
her back ; potatoes in the oven. Love won’t buy 
coal nor pay taxes.” 

Charley was dumbfounded at this practical view of 
life ! still he fought for his ground : 

“But, I thought love prompted men to noble deeds 
that won money, and incited true women to sacrifice, 
till they saw their lovers well up the ladder of success.?’’ 

“Yes ; but you are expecting too much, if you hope 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


to find every woman a compliment of your own true 
heart ; but poverty is a touch-stone ; be thankful that 
you are poor and possess this infallible test of true 
love.” 

“But if the coin rings hollow ! ” 

“Love and pain are often twin-born, but in that 
event, Charley, play the man. The times need men; 
true-ringing steel, tempered in these fires of pain.” 

“Why, what are we talking about ! What folly to 
think of such an impossibility ! ” 

“Don’t you be so sure of that. If you are poor and 
love a lassie, and Mr. Golddust takes a fancy to buy 
your lassie — well — I pity you.” 

Charley whistled. 

After this interview with Ruth, Charley was con- 
stantly on the alert, to get private speech with Kate. 
She seemed more kind than ever, and exceedingly 
tender towards him, and she evidently sought his 
company more frequently — and yet — she never gave 
him a chance to speak with her alone. 

He thought the old, leathern crocodile was waking 
up, in his dusty corner. His dull eyes were certainly 
fixed on him with a sinister meaning 

He cursed that old song that had roiled the sweet 
waters of his content. 

He did not pass so patiently his legal rival, on his 
perch at the head of the stairs, after the “battle of the 
pipes.” This disconsolate lover had transferred his 
important business to the senior partner, and Charley 
imagined that the old crocodile had struck up a sort 
of partnership with him. He certainly did not order 
him down the stairs as aforetime. And what sur- 
prised Charley the most, he had lately, on two oc- 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 79 


casions actually loaned his sacred desk and chair, and 
his pens and paper to write his gushing epistles. 

Here he was wont to look down on Charley at his 
bench, very much as a tall rooster glances in his pride 
at a cock sparrow. 

One day, Charley found him at his old perch, ra- 
diant with happiness ; he was gushingly patronising ; 
evidently something had come of his new business 
relations. 

“It’s all right — I’m sorry for you — but let the best 
man win — and I am the best man — I have won ! ” 

“I wish you much joy ; but what makes you so sure 
of your victory ? ” 

“Look at this !” and he held out a few bits of papers 
that had formed parts of a letter, in a woman’s hand, 
upon which he read : 


GLADES. 
Fri 

TEND : — 

your kind offer would make 

change in m_y life 

some time to consider.. 

Rainswirth. 

“Hurrah for my side ! old fellow. Old Jake Black- 
man has a heart if he is as dry as dust. He has under- 
taken my pressing business ; • he has been writing my 
little dillet doux for me. I was sure his powerful in- 
fluence would gain my cause ; look at the result !” 
and again he produced with great care the torn frag- 
ments of Kate’s note, begging for time. 

“It’s my darling’s hand ! she answers favorably ! 
be generous now, and congratulate me.” 

Charley passed in with more fuel added to the fires 
of suspicion. A baleful light gleamed in the old 


8o 


THE WOODEN BOX fLE. 


crocodile’s eye. He stirred uneasily as if looking for 
something he had lost. It was that note. Kate never 
wrote to J. Johnstone Kent. So much was certain. 
He had, however, been allowed access to that, desk in 
the corner; seeing the handwriting of his adored, how 
natural to slip into the error, that it was an answer to 
the notes he supposed his business friend had written ! 
But then, what offer has old Robin made to Kate that 
would change her life ? 

That very day, Kate came in, and a long time she 
sat at the organ playing tender melodies, but Charley 
could not summon courage to mount beside her, with 
the old crocodile’s eye upon him, and J. Johnstone 
Kent on the outside. He followed her as she went out 
^nd grasped her hand, and cried : 

“My dear, dear Kate !” 

There were loud words outside, when the lawyer 
saw this, and on the inside, the senior partner tore his 
hair. And no good came of it to bold Charley, for 
Kate said : 

“There ! I have forgotten my music,” and passed in 
again. And there she managed to wait till Ruth came. 

The old crocodile now determined to snap his jaws 
and swallow Charley. 

He went over to attorney Blackstone, a care-worn, 
bald-headed father of seven children and the husband 
of an extravagant wife. He always had a hungry look 
when money was mentioned, and grasped what came 
to hirh, as a drowning sailor might grasp an oar. 

“Blackstone, you know that crazy lawyer who is 
possessed to marry Kate Rainswirth ” 

“Yes.” . 

“Well, I am talked to death with the fellow; morn- 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


8l 


ing, noon and night, there he sits, on the top stair — 
and he has been into my private papers. I am afraid 
if he finds out my intentions towards Miss Kate, that 
he will kill me — he nearly cracked the skull of one of 
my workmen, of whom he was jealous.” 

“This is a serious matter Mr. Blackman. Certainly 
he may kill you in an insane fit, when he reads in the 
Herald of the grand festivities.” 

“I can't be bothered with him now, and what 
will I do when our engagement is announced } ” 

“Where are his friends ?” 

“He has no friends who care a fig for him.” 

“He ought to be confined.” 

“How can that be done.?” 

“He must be examined by two competent and well- 
known physicians, residing for the last four years in 
this city, and known to the county judge ; who, on 
their certificates might appoint some one guardian of 
his person, and order hifn confined in an asylum.” 

“How much will that cost .? ” 

“Well,” said Blackstone after some figuring, “it will 
cost one hundred dollars.” 

“Go ahead.” 

The result of this consultation was soon apparent. 

The next day, two, well-known physicians called 
at the organ factory, just as J. Johnstone Kent was 
sealing a loving note, in the old crocodile’s lair. 

They quietly inquired for Jacob Blackman. 

“He's gone to dinner.” 

“Well, perhaps you can kindly answer our inquries. 
We are seeking some information about Miss Kate 
Rainswirth, organist .? ” 

“Oh, certainly — certainly,” and out came the whole 


82 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


story of poor Kent’s misfortunes. When, an hour 
after, they stood outside and met Jacob, they shook 
their heads — sad case — sad case of paresis — incurable 
— dangerous if jealously is excited. And they pro- 
ceeded to Blackstone’s office, where the papers were 
signed. These were taken before Judge Weather- 
vane, who was deciding just then, the nice points of 
law in the old case of Crow vs. Crow. 

“It’s all right, is it, Blackstone ? ” 

“Oh yes. You know doctors Black and White.!*” 

“Oh yes; I see, of course it is all right,” and he signed 
his name to the order the lawyer had drawn. In this 
the name of Daniel Welsh appeared, as guardian of the 
person, and he was directed to “place said lunatic in 
Mount Pilgrim Asylum for the Insane.” 

“You see, Welsh is under some obligation to me,” 
said Jacob, as he named the Bowery bully. 

So far, the guileful Jacob’s scheme was all right, 
but now he approached the little plot of his own con- 
triving. 

Kate knew by the impetuous anxiety of Charley 
that the time had come, when she could no longer 
hold one hand in the hot grasp of her lover, and the 
other in the cold gold. 

It was in* the parlor of the spacious rectory, that 
Langis & Co. had built in St. Xavier’s Place, and just 
after dinner, that Charley received some plain in- 
structions in the practical philosophy of life. 

“I am perfectly astonished that you should ask me 
to marry you Charley. How much money have you 
now in the bank .? ” 

“None at all.” 

“What are your wages ? ” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


83 


“Twelve dollars a week.” 

“Do you think you could hire a suite of rooms, and 
a servant, and buy meat and coal with such a trifle ? 
Now, what do you suppose a dress for me would cost ?” 

“I don^t know, and I don’t care. Kate, this is not 
just the time to talk of coal, meat, and a bank account. 
If you loved me, you would take me for what I am, 
not what I have, and trust my good right hand to win 
for you whatever you should want.” 

“That is all very well Charley, but suppose we were 
taken sick ? I must be prudent. Haven’t you heard 
the news ? — I am going to marry Mr. Jacob Black- 
man, the senior member of your firm.” 

Charley dropped the little, lily-white hand ; his 
fate was sealed at last — but the wrong way. He saw 
again the pictures in the fire. 

“Yes, I might have known,” he groaned. “Kate ! 
my Kate ! young and so fair ; will you marry that 
withered old crocodile ? My own Kate, mate that 
grisled old Daddylonglegs, becayse he has a bank ac- 
count ? Say, Kate, don’t you do it ; our love is sweet- 
er than the old man’s gold.” 

“Why, Charley ! who ever heard of such a thing ! 
You cannot get married yet this many a 'year, until 
you have saved a competence, then you will look about 
and make some girl happy ; this is my chance ; Mr. 
Blackman has the means to take care of me. I like 
you — but then — I must look out for the future. Good 
night ! Come and see me in my new home.” 

And this was all there was of the ripe cherries for 
Charley ; no tender kiss ; no fond-lover’s clasp, seal- 
ing the sweet covenant of love. Only a cold lesson in 


84 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


house-keeping ! only too close a look into a woman’s 
heart. Poor Charley ; he was sitting dazed, down 
among his pipes, when Ruth found him afterwards, 
and knew by his looks that he had been hit hard, in 
his first battle with her sex. 

She tried to pour out the wine of consolation : 

“Have* patience Charley. This is part of the disci- 
pline of life. Play the man, Charley ! ” 

“Excuse me madam,” said he with a coarse and bit- 
ter tone, “will you please go away with your budget 
of comfortable maxims ! 

“Charley, you need comfort sorely.” 

“There it is again — that tender voice ! One would 
think you had a heart ! but it is just like the tender 
plaint of a cuckoo — a mere arrangement of the vocal 
chords ! ” 

“Charley, you have been sorely wounded.” 

“I won’t go to a woman for comfort. I know you 
now ; your tender songs ; your sweet, winning ways, 
are but bits of flowers and ribbons, that dress your 
clay hearts.” 

“Have patience Charley, ‘there are just as good 
fish in the sea as ever were caught.’ Some day you 
will win a woman, with a heart of gold.” 

“Never! the compass of her nature is too narrow. 
I thought, because I heard a woman sing with exqui- 
site feeling, that her heart was tender, and when she 
played chords that reached far into Romance, that 
she could love me with a love greater than life, but 
her maximum love could not outweigh a bushel of 
potatoes. I thought because she moved the very 
depths of my soul, her love was deep as the green sea, 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 85 

but alas ! I plunged headlong on the rocks of a shal- 
low pond.” 

“Charley, play the man.” 

“What’s the use ? Life has shrunken to a bushel of , 
onions, and can be measured with a yard-stick ! I 
have had my first glimpse into a woman’s heart; its 
very grain and texture is of the earth, earthy. Here- 
after, Woman may be my slave, but never my idol. 
But, leave me, before I have my fling at that which 
once I worshiped, but now despise ! ” 

“You have said too much already,” said she, “I want- 
ed to comfort you, but you have wounded me. Now, I 
must wait until a wider knowledge of life, gives you 
higher view of Woman, before I can reach you with- 
out danger of harm.” 

That night, Charley met the little group in Bartolf’s 
studio. It was noticed that he was unusually silent, 
and for the first time, refused to sing but joined the 
circle at the grate, drinking often from the calabash 
of hot punch — a thing he was never known to do be- 
fore. 

He did not appear the next day at his bench nor 
at the church. But on Wednesday afternoon, when 
the sunshine was pouring through the dusty windows 
of the old factory, he came in walking like a French 
automatic doll. 

The old crocodile was blinking in his corner, but 
when he saw Charley he shut his jaws with an omi- 
nous snap and slipped out. 

Kate was on the organ bench as usual. She went 
over to flirt a little with Charley. She loved him after 
the manner of women, and was sorry he did not own 


86 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


the business; instead of that rusty, old crocodile. She 
was glad it was settled between them. 

“You are not mad at me, are you Charley 

Charley said nothing — in fact — he did nothing ; he 
stood like the clay model of John Pennyweight, up in 
Bartolf’s studio, that his friends were afraid to touch 
lest it would fall over. Bartolf stuck to it, that some- 
thing was the matter with the center of gravitation. 

Kate thought he was mad, and laid her hand on his 
shoulder, still he did not turn. She leaned against 
the bench and looked square into his face. When 
she saw his eyes she screamed. They were not the 
eyes of a man who died yesterday, but the eyes of 
one long dead and mouldering in his coffin, where the 
worms crawl in their lair. 

“Oh Charley ! ” 

“I’m m’ full,” came through his thick lips. 

“Kate in her fright forgot, and took the front en- 
trance, running into the arms of J. Johnstone Kent, 
who was down on his knees in a jiffy; just then the old 
crocodile came up followed by the burly Dan. 

“Halloo here’s my chap — making a fool of himself 
before my lady.” 

“I will tell you all about it,” said the lover. 

Kate seized the opportunity to run for.her life. 

“Come on with me,” said Dan. 

'-'Thafs not the man!'' said Blackman, who also 
whispered to the lawyer : 

“I am afraid -something will happen to that girl, I 
wish you would see if she arrives at her home.” 

The lawyer darted down stairs. 

“Your man is in there, standing at the bench. I 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 8/ 

will retire. I don’t care to have him see us together.” 

“I will take care of him; give me the papers. 

He opened the door, and taking Charley by the arm 
just saved him from falling his whole length on the 
floor; he moved him a child does a rag-baby, by 
his arms; his legs moving sluggishly, but not support- 
ing his weight. 

In the street he was joined by an officer in blue; 
they called a hack, and the three were rapidly driven 
to the cars. 

All that night he rode in stupid unconsciousness, 
and the next morning he was sleeping in Mount 
Pilgrim private asylum for the Iilsane. 

Jacob Blackman’s brother was the proprietor of that 
establishment. And he had not made as much money 
in the enterprise, as his brother often made on one 
organ. Indeed through foolish expenditures on the 
grounds, he was in debt, and continually hungry for 
more money. 

He carefully examined the papers; two physician’s 
certificates and order of County Judge; all proper, and 
turned the key. 

The old crocodile’s jaws had a good snap on Charley 
for they shut with a legal catch. The law is carefully 
framed for the examination of a lunatic, but it has no 
provision to insure that the person incarcerated is the 
person who was examined ! 

Bully Dan had never seen Charley, neither had his 
detective. They were all strangers to the superin- 
tending physician at Mount Pilgrim, and, unfortunate- 
ly, Charley was in no condition to successfully compel 
a correction of the error. He had tried to drown his 
sorrows in the flowing bowl, and was stupid from the 


88 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


effects of his first debauch. It is not unusual for in- 
sane people to appear sane for a portion of the time. 
The doctor was not surprised that Charley claimed 
to be sane. His protestations that he was the victim 
of a conspiracy were usual. Unless, in some way, his 
absence being known, he might be traced through his 
arrest — there was very little chance of that — he bid 
fair to stay in the asylum at least till the old fellow’s 
honey-moon was over. 

Some persistent lover might have received all this 
at the hand of his fickle mistress and loved her still, 
but Charley’s love would not stand the test. ‘ After 
one week of apathy and idleness, his mind began to 
rebound, he then hated the very name of his mistress. 

Kate hastened to Ruth with the dismal news, that 
she had found Charley drunk. 

Poor Ruth sat down and cried. She thought of the 
gypsy’s brand, that strange bond between them, and 
of the explanation of the priest. 

“I offered him the Wine of Consolation, and he has 
refused it; it indeed pierces my heart with sorrow.” 

They heard later, that Charley had lost his place — 
had been discharged, because he appeared at work 
drunk. A new man came and finished the organ. 




CHAPTER IX. 

LOVE AND GOLD. 

ATE R AINSWIRTH sat at her 
window, overlooking a dreary 
court. All she could see of it, 
was a bit of dusty grass, sepa- 
rated by a crumbling stone wall, 
with a group of cats, creeping 
tenderly over the broken spikes 
at the top of it. The great, rear 
walls of the opposite block reach- 
ing high into the sky, were mil- 
dewed and shabby, and were 
pierced with long lines of innumerable windows, some 
with one shutter, and some without any ; here, was 
a box of scrawny plants, and there, a bird cage hang- 
ing over the brick precipice ; in one window a clerk 
in his shirt sleeves, was blacking his boots ; while, in 
the cell just above him, a woman sat, rolling up her 
hair in papers, with a mirror, on the ledge, propped 
up against a geranium in a cracked pot. 




90 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


Kate was tired of the general shabbiness. She turned 
to her work again, penciling figures on the back of an 
old piece of music. 

And this was the sum in addition that seemed to 
please her greatly : 

1 , 000.00 

10 , 000.00 

4 , 000.00 

$15,000.00 

and in one short year . . 4,000.00 more, 

* $19,000.00 

“He is an ugly, old cyclops ! I am sure. I wish 
Charley had put by some money in the bank.” And 
her eyes looked through the net-work of figures to the 
words of the old song over which she had penciled 
them. 

“My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie back. 

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack! 

The ship it was a wrack — why didna Jennie dee ? 

Or why do I live to say, ‘Wae’s me 

But then, he is an old man, and soon I shall be Mrs. 
Blackman, the young and rich widow. And perhaps, 

Charley will but what am I thinking of I ‘business 

before pleasure,’” and she sat about her sum in arith- 
matic. 

“What is the interest on $19,000.00, for two years.? 
on/y two years!' and then her eyes got down to the 
printed words of the old song that ran under her pen- 
ciled figures. 

“I hadna been a wife a week but only four. 

When sitting sae mournfully at the door, 

I saw my Jamie’s wraith, for I couldna think it he — 

Till he said, ‘I’m came back for to marry thee.’” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


91 


She shut her eyes, but still she saw letters of fire in 
rolling- clouds of darkness : 

“I wish I were dead ! but I’m no like to dee : 

And why do I live to say, ‘Wae’s me ? ’ ” 

She tore up the music, figures, and song, and threw 
the fragments in a white shower down on the cats 
• and wrote to Mr. Blackman, as plainly as she could — 
accepting his proposition. And that very night, the 
old crocodile sat in her room, blinking his eyes, and 
smoking his cigar, with his weeded hat far on the back 
of his head, teaching Miss Kate tO‘figure interest on 
certain notes and bills. 

That night, she held in her hand, a mortgage on 
the organ factory, for $1,000. And on the first day 
of January, she stretched the rubber band, and inserted 
another bond of $10,000, on the house. No. 404 Hya- 
cinthe street. 

Ruth Falbert was greatly distressed, when she 
heard of the disappearance of Charley Clinton, and 
was unremitting in her efforts to find some clue of the 
missing man. She employed a private detective 
whose first report dispelled her suspicions, that he had 
suicided — since he was last seen in an intoxicated con- 
dition, in charge of an officer, who had called a hack. 
But further search proved that he had not been taken 
before any police court in the city. 

Ruth was sure, that he had been kidnapped in some 
wild scheme, set on foot by his rival — the crazy law- 
yer. He was shadowed, but nothing came of it. 

There was one person, who could have given Ruth 
the information she needed, but a $1,000 bit bridled 
her tongue. 

The bitterest pang of Kate’s surrender, had pierced 


92 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


her heart, when her old crocodile opened his mouth, 
and showed her how he had snapped poor Charley. 

It was necessary — the old idiot had reasoned — for 
her to know, so that she would not be spooney on him 
any more. 

“You see my dearest Kate;” — and his dearest Kate 
shuddered at the darling appellation as people do when 
they swallow a bitter pill — He was giving her an 
evening lesson in book-keeping’ with his cigar in his 
mouth, and his hat on the back of his head — “you see 
Charley was getting ‘off his base,’ he was so far daft 
that he was ruining my pipes. You would have taken 
him for a drunken man.” 

“I never thought that Charley was in danger of in- 
sanity.” 

“Yes. Oh yes; always odd, and getting worse. 
As he never had any friends that 1 heard of, I took 
pity on him, and sent him to my brother’s Hygienic 
Home.” 

“How odd! Was he examined by a physician.^” 

“By two of the best : doctors White and Black; so 
just figure in these bills of my brother, for board and 
medical attention.” 

“But these bills are for J. Johnstone Kent; there 
seems to have been a blunder.” 

“Oh no; you will learn to be sharp after you have 
lived with me. I did not care to have everybody 
know that I clapped Charley into the asylum; you see.^” 
And the wicked old crocodile winked one eye again. 

Kate saw I 

He might as well have told her : 

“You did not sell yourself to a saint, so don’t be 
surprised.” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


93 


So, this was the first fruits of her business trans- 
action, in this practical world, she was-Char!ey’s jailor; 
paying the bills for his bread and water. 

How would all this seem, when she should be the 
rich widow Blackman, and Charley was wooing her 
again. 

Kate swallowed a lump in her throat — but then — 
she had made up her mind, she would have to do that 
several times after they were married. 

When Ruth Falbert heard of Kate’s engagement, 
she called in her detective, and sent him on a new 
track. 

Brutus was now convalescent, and had crawled by 
the aid of Ruth’s arm, over to doctor Ethel’^ office, and 
was sitting on her steps, in the cool morning shadow. 
A grand Fenian demonstration was drawn up in the 
next street. Men were hurrying to take their places 
in the procession. 

Brutus was very proud of Ethel, and though no one 
else would believe their circumstantial evidence of re- 
lationship, it was enough to convince them. 

Brutus was very careful to keep from Ethel the 
knowledge of his extreme poverty, and of the compan- 
ions he had kept previous to his illness. 

What was his mortification as he looked up from 
his Hamlet, he was reading to Ethel, to see his old 
enemy, Daniel Welsh, marching up the street, in 
Fenian trim, with a new, silk hat, shining like anickle- 
plated castor, in velvet coat and corduroys. 

He pounced on Brutus like a cat on a mouse. 

“Oh ! me’ foin boy — I have ye now ! Where’s me 
rent ? ” 

“I will come and see you,” apologised Brutus. 


94 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


“You will come and see me — Yes ! — they all say 
they will come and see me — but they never do. — 
Now, where’s me’ rent? — Ye haven’t it? — Well, I’ll 
have yer body. I have a summons for ye’s. I have 
it in me’ ’at.” Whereupon, he took off his shining 
“castor” and began to shuffle over some papers, most- 
ly old envelopes and bills. 

Brutus was intensely mortified and deplored the 
effect on Ethel. But he need not have borrowed that 
trouble, for Ethel had seen a vast deal of life, in her 
short history, and was not at all surprised. 

She spoke in a cool, business-like way : 

“I will take your summons ; this man is ill.” 

“Oh, I see I have forgotten that summons — it is in 
me’ store ’at,” said Dan. 

‘ Do you owe this man any money ? ” said Ethel to 
Brutus. 

“Yes, but he has good security for it — he has my 
gold pocket-piece.” 

Ethel struck a bargain with Dan., and obtained a 
little, steel ring, with two keys and a gold pocket- 
piece, and a receipt for the rent money. 

*‘My mother gave it to me for luck.” 

Ethel examined the coin with great interest. It 
was a foreign stamp , rarely seen in America. She 
drew from her neck, her brass locket, and on the ring 
was the same kind of a coin ! — another link in the evi- 
dence that they both discovered with great joy. 

Brutus was still holding in his hand, the old envel- 
ope, that Dan. had dropped from his big fist, when 
Ruth came down the stairs. She was told of the in- 
cident, and carelessly looked at the envelope. She 
started when she read the address 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


95 


“If not delivered in ten days, return to Dr. Black- 
man, Hygienic Institute for the insane. Dan. Welsh, 
committee for J. Johnstone Kent, New York.” 

She sent for her detective, and he reported after- 
wards, that there was nothing in that trail. 

“I find that this J. Johnstone Kent is a lunatic ; he 
has been examined by two physicians, and by an order 
of the Court, he has been sent to doctor Blackman’s 
asylum.” 

“I saw J. Johnstone Kent yesterday.” ^ 

“Impossible.” 

•‘I am sure it was he.” 

“Absurd ! we never make mistakes.” 

“I can show you that crazy lawyer this very day.” 

“There is a quicker way. I will telegraph doctor 
Blackman.” 

He stepped to the telephone, and sent his order to 
the central office ; 

“Ask doctor Blackman if his new patient, J. John- 
stone Kent, is any better ? ” 

In a short time the answer came : 

“Doctor Blackman telegraphs : J. Johnstone Kent 
is no better ; he is in a private cell ; — dangerous— 
cannot see his friends yet.” 

“Now,” said the detective, are you convinced.!^” 

“How long would it take to convey a patient to 
doctor Blackman’s asylum 

“At least twenty-four hours.” 

“Then I am not convinced, for I tell you, I saw him 
not two hours since.” 

“There are two J. Johnstone Kents.” 

The detective was sent out again. He returned 
with the fact, that J. Johnstone Kent was examined 


96 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


at the organ factory, and at the instigation of Jacob 
Blackman. 

“I see ! I see ! ” said Ruth. 

“Well, see!” 

“Why, they examined J. Johnstone Kent — and they 
took Charley Clinton.” 

“Such a thing would be impossible.” 

'‘I think not.” 

They journeyed to the asylum. There they found 
that J. Johnstone Kent had escaped a week before I 

‘ I told you so,” said the detective. “That explains 
why you saw him in New York.” 

“But you received a telegram day before yesterday, 
that he was here ? ” 

“'I'hat is so,” growled the detective, ashamed to be 
caught napping by a woman. 

“Why did you telegraph me that Kent was here 

“He is in our charge, and we expected to retake 
him at any time. Y oh only asked us about his health.” 

“Well, we are on the wrong trail — I knew it from 
the start.” 

And back they went. 

******* * 

At least it could be said of doctor Blackman’s 
Hygienic Home, that it was ‘beautiful for situation.’ 
The old-fashioned farm house, of white bricks, and 
green blinds, with a little semi-oval fan in the ga- 
ble, and a round, wooden cupalo, that looked like a 
short, fat telescope, ready to shoot up into a slender 
steeple ; had been a homestead of the Breton family 
for generations, until doctor Blackman bought it for 
his last, grand effort to make the fortune that had 
been denied him in the regular practice of his profes- 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


97 


sion. There was a view from the windows and porches, 
such as can be found only in the land of great lakes and 
noble rivers. From the room of the new patient could 
be seen a wild, precipitous bluff; the deep river gorge; 
the vast expanse of an inland sea; while to the west- 
ward stretched the interminable forest. 

The organ maker woke out of his drunken stupor 
the afternoon of the day he arrived, and soon found 
out where he was, and how he came there. But for 
several days he was so prostrated by his sudden 
calamities, and especially, by the heartless treatment 
he had received from Kate, that he was indifferent to 
his surroundings. But at the end of a week, there 
came a rebound. His mind began to regain its elas- 
ticity. But still, he had been so badly hurt, that he 
could not think in a healthy way. 

As he sat by the iron-bound window of his little 
room, he arrived at several conclusions : 

He reasoned correctly, that he need have no serious 
fears for his personal liberty; a sane man would have 
no difficulty in breaking out of that crumbling, old 
house. 

He was not far out of the way, when he said to him- 
self : 

“I don’t think my love for Kate Rainswirth was 
skin deep ! 

“She has, by her conduct, shown that she does not 
possess those deep and rich qualities of the soul that 
compliment my own spiritual yearning. 

“And if my love had been deeper than a man’s fancy, 
it would have survived the blow with which she has 
killed it; for my love is dead ! 

I hate her!'' 


98 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


But now he passes into the shadow of a young man’s 
greatest temptation. 

“I have been cast out; the door has been slammed 
in my face, simply because I had no account in the 
bank ! Well, what do I care ! I will be a free lance. 
Yes I will, Miss Ruth; you need not look so glum, 
with your big eyes and sorrowful face: I will forage 
around on the outside. 

“I care for nobody; no not I, 

And nobody cares for me.’ 

“I thought I was born for something better; but if 
I needs must be a gypsy, I will take ‘pot luck’ with 
the gypsies.” 

His room was the very home of desolation. The 
bare walls were newly whitewashed; the slivery floor 
was wet in spots, from the constant scrubbing and re- 
dolent with the caustic odor of soap; low-browed, 
mildewed faces; souless, wasted faces of the coarsest 
animal types, silently flitted in and out, doing nothing, 
saying nothing — but eternally moving and looking. 

The prisoner was driven by the dreary wretched- 
ness of his abode to look outside. 

His iron-barred window opened westward. 

The sun had just set, and beyond the vast stretches 
of forest and lake, the clouds were piled up in mag- 
nificent masses; fair cities of gold and mighty mount- 
ains rose out of the broad, amber seas, and fleets of 
silken sails, in russet-and-purple bore down to the 
pearly gates. The rose-red mist blended sky and 
forest. 

Heaven and Earth were met together. 

For some moments the prisoner gazed in silence. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


99 


He flew across the plains of forest tops; he sailed the 
shimmering seas ; he entered the pearly gates ; he 
walked the streets of gold ; he breathed the inspi- 
ration of the towering mountains. 

And who went with him, hand in hand, up those 
golden streets ? Who but Ruth, with the big eyes 
and sad face ? Far up those shining heights they 
roam and they hear the voice of many waters, and 
the voice of mighty thunderings : 

“Let us be glad and rejpice, for the Lord God om- 
nipotent reigneth.” 

He felt — for he could not hear — some one near, and 
turning, looked into a pallid face with dead, lusterless 
eyes, continually crawling from side to side, like the 
head of a snake. Ambition, love, intelligence were 
gone forever. 

Long he pondered over that restless face. A hor- 
rible mask it was ; impure desire, haggard appetite 
alone flashed in the ashes of that once noble mind. 

Have your little whirl of life, because a heartless 
girl has sent you spinning — but you will stop at last like 
this! Darker and darker fell the night. That pale mask 
of a dead soul, waved to and fro in the light from the 
window, long after the body was hid in the dark. He 
turned ; the gates of heaven were shut ; the curtains 
of the night were drawn ; he saw only those big, black 
eyes and that sad face, melting into the ’night. But 
in his heart, he heard a voice saying : 

“Go fling the reins upon the neck of your wild will ; 
herd with the vile and feed in impure pastures; but 
never listen again to a sweet song of pure love ; never 
look at a sunset sky ; never hope to see me again ; 
for into that heavenly way, ‘there shall in no wise 


TOO 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


enter any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever 
worketh an abomination or maketh a lie.’” 

‘‘Bah ! ” said he, '‘did not doctor Fergus tell us, that 
these beautiful sunsets are delusions ; optical illusions; 
effects upon the retina of the eye, caused by the di- 
vision of the rays of light passing through vapors near 
the earth’s surface ? I have dreamed long enough I 
will go in now for the substantials!” and as he stretched 
himself on the bed, he considered how he could break 
out of his confinement with least difficulty and danger. 

He thought how he might wrench a bit of iron from 
his bedstead, and cut his way through the ceiling into 
the attic, and thence to the roof. Or he might pry 
up the hearth-stone of the old-fashioned fireplace, and 
see what there was down stairs. Perhaps he could 
work out the end of one of the window bars. But 
these methods of escape suggested too much labor. 

He felt very savage towards his kidnappers, and 
prefered to attack some one violently, rather than to 
sneak away. 

He despised his keepers. 

“They can control fools, but let a stout man, in his 
senses, get hold of them ! They would find him ‘a 
horse of quite a different color.’ ” 

The next morning, as his keeper was passing out, 
he stood between him and the door, and made a little 
speech to him : 

“I am a sane man.” 

“Oh yes, Johnnie ; we are all sane — of course we are.” 

“I was kidnapped into this building when I was 
drunk.” 

“So say we all of us.” 

“And now I am going outside.” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


lOI 


“Yes, yes, Johnnie; all in good time. The governor 
will send his chariot-and-four, with red flags at their 
ears, to give you a ride.” 

“Shut up your grinning and chattering; you are not 
dealing with a fool now.” 

The man was astonished and lowered his voice. 

“You may be all right, but I cannot let you out; you 
must see the doctor.” 

“I will make you open up for me, or I will wring your 
neck ! I have a right to my liberty, and 1 will kill any 
man who stands in my way to it ! ” 

“And you would kill me 

“If you try to prevent my escape.” 

The keys were suspended by a brass chain which 
went around the neck and under his arm, with them 
was a steel whistle. The man was about to place this 
signal to his lips, when the organ builder fiercely seized 
his throat, and held him as if in a vise. In a few seconds 
the man was mastered. 

“Will you unlock that door.?” 

“Y— es.” 

“You may hand over that rusty, old revolver.” But 
his hands were too limp by this time to get into his 
pocket. The organ maker helped himself to the ugly 
weapon and led the way to the hall door, which he 
made the frightened keeper open for him. 

The porter at the door, a big Milesian, never could 
tell how it happened, that the new patient got by him. 
Something swooped down on him, and he afterwards 
came to himself amid a great racket throughout the 
house, that a dangerous lunatic had escaped. And so 
he had, after knocking down the porter and helping 
himself from the wardrobe. 


102 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


Charley walked ten miles through the fresh green 
fields, to stretch his limbs and get his first taste of 
this, do-as-he-had-a-mind-to kind of life. 

He came up in a winding path, over a stunted past- 
ure, and through the lane into which it led, to the old 
barn on the road. 

A faded, young man, with stained and worn gar- 
ments of city-cut, sat in a wagon bespattered with 
paste, and loaded with bills and brushes. 

He was watching his man spreading a hugh, circus 
bill, on the wall of the barn. 

“Push up the right-hand side ; make it plumb.” 

“I say it is plumb ! ” 

“You spoil the effect ; the clown looks as if he was 
drunk, and the lady on the horse is falling off ! ” 

“Look here, old man ! you are drunk ! If that bill 
don’t suit you, just come down and fix it yourself.” 

“I say it is ‘lopsided.’” 

“And I say it is as square as the barn door, and 
there is not a wrinkle in it.” 

“It is very plain you have no talent for your busi- 
ness. I am afraid you will not make a success.” 

“And t’is very plain ye’s ave no taste for the ‘biz.’ 
Sitting up there as if ye’s owned the world, and wid 
a squint of yer eye a telling me to do this and to do 
that.” 

The shabby gent stood up in the buggy, and in a 
stagey style snapped his whip, as if he would touch up 
his man a bit for his insolence. Whereupon, Patrick 
became intensely excited. 

“Would the loiks of ye’s be after hitting me wid 
that whip ? It’s meself will be after giving ye a taste 
of the business with the stem of me’ brush ! ” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


103 


Whereupon, he brought his long pole to bear on 
his employer to so good effect, that Charley, who 
was leaning on the bars, jumped over and rescued the 
man from his irascible servant. The war of words 
ended in the payment of the paster and his discharge 
on the spot. 

“I’ve seen you before said Gustavus. 

“Yes,” said Charley, as he recalled the flash ex-actor 
as one of the group that hung around the punch por- 
ringer, in Bartolf’s studio, like flies around a drop of 
treacle. 

“Well, you are a long way from home.” 

“About as far as you are, I take it. Don’t you want 
some one to hang your bills.?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“I’ll take the job.”* 

“Come on.” 

Gustavus was nearly over his route when he picked 
up Charley, and at the end of two weeks, he had fin- 
ished “decorating” the last town, with his gay pano- 
rama of ballooning girls and flying horses. He then 
coaxed Charley to go across the country and meet the 
circus, promising him a job on the steam calliope. It 
was between the afternoon and evening performances 
when they drove into the little, lake port, where the cir- 
cus tents were pitched, that they met a spotted horse 
before a bright-red dog-cart, on which was painted in 
gold: 

GREAT GLOBE SHOW 25 CENTS 

It was driven by a dashing young lady, dressed in 
the gaudy costume in which she had been acting that 
afternoon, in the little drama of “Pocahontas.” Her 


104 the wooden bottle. 

hair was encircled by a silver fillet at her forehead, 
and thence fell free at the “sport of the wind.” The 
lines of her supple form, were displayed — rather than 
concealed by the scanty gown, an Indian maid was 
supposed to wear amid the briers and thorns of the 
forest. 

She drew rein to speak with Gustavus : 

“I’m mighty glad to see you, old fellow ! Have 
you billed us clear through ? I’m mad at you though 
to hang up Madam Zebra in foot blocks, while you can’t 
read my name with a pair of her old “specs.” 

“I have to paste the bills just as they are, don’t I ?” 

“Well, wait till next year ! I will find a company 
where my beauty is appreciated, and old Madam 
will die before that time. I’m in a fix — can’t turn 
round. I’m a good driver as long as the horse goes 
straight ahead, but I will turn over before I turn 
round — Oh, what shall I do ? — Lend me your passen- 
ger, please.” 

“I can drive,” said Charley, and forthwith jumped 
down, and into the cart, and taking the reins, turned 
about and followed Gustavus. 

‘‘Thanks.” 

“I thought a circus woman could drive ” 

“What’s that you call me ? I am Mademoiselle 
Zingara — that’s me on. the old shed — but they call me 
‘Sin’ for short.” 

“You drive well there pirouetting on four horses.” 

“Oh, I can drive ; I was only guying ; I wanted 
some company in. That’s a nice ring ; let me see it.’ 
And she took Charley’s hand, and Charley let her 
have it, trying to drive with the other. The wheel 
soon left the track, causing the cart to tip. Where- 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


105 


upon she screams, “Oh ! Oh !” and grasps Charley tight. 

But now they are nearing the main street. She 
throws from her quiver handfuls of dodgers, announc ■ 
ing the evening’s show, to end with the great tragedy 
of “Pocahontas.” 

Charley found at the grounds, more scantily attired 
ladies, with flowing hair and brass rings. 

The manager was in a great worry because the fa- 
mous calliope, that was his dependence to advertise the 
show, and to call the natives to the opening exercises 
had broken down. He was delighted to learn that 
Charley was an organ builder. He set him to work 
overhauling the machine, and his success in re-awaken- 
ing the shrieking screeches, made a place for him at 
once in the company, as general cobbler of wagons 
and machinery. 

That night he was formerly introduced to the little 
company, that dined at the old tavern, as a friend 
of Gustavus from New York. Jests and oaths, cigars 
and brandy, spiced the feast. 

At his right sat Sin. She seemed much larger, in 
in her modern costume. Her black hair still fell over 
her shoulders, as if unused to restraint ; it was banged 
closely on her forehead. A large straw hat, like a 
•Flemish helmet, inclining well to one side, was fast- 
ened with a silver dagger, stabbed through hair and 
straw. Her face was intelligent, but not bright ; alert, 
but not not cheerful ; clean, but not fresh.. Her dress 
fitted her like a panther’s skin, but was of cheap ma- 
terial. Her arms below the short sleeves, and her 
shoulders and neck above the short waist, were tan- 
ned a dark olive. Indeed, from head to foot, she* 
looked as if she had been out in wind and sun. A 


I06 THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 

couple of geranium stems were stuck through her 
belt. 

“Natty, but tarnished,” thought Charley, as Sin 
handed him a glass of brandy to sip, while she sang 
“Binorie.” 

It was his second lesson in dram drinking, and so 
skillful was his tutor, that Gus Bad lugged him down 
to the tents, on his shoulder, and curled him up on 
the straw under the lion’s wagon. And there the hot 
morning sun found him and woke him up with a roar- 
ing headache. 

Gus wrote to Brutus the next day, that he had 
found the organ builder, he used to meet at Bartolfs, 
and that he had joined their company. 




CHAPTER X. 

QUEEN OF THE SKY.” 

HE next day was Sunday, a day 
usually observed by this “Great 
Globe Show ” with a pilgrimage to 
next town, but as there were to be 
four more exhibitions in this lake 
port; for once, the grinning clown, 
the wretched monkeys, pirouet- 
ting girls, and the flying horses, 
all held a holiday. 

Now, Thomas, the clown, who was a capital sailor, 
so he said, and had watched the stately ships sailing 
in and out the little port, with a professional hanker- 
ing, proposed to charter a noble yacht, and show his 
friends how he could handle the tiller. They were not 
slow in accepting his offer, and lunch baskets were 
prepared, and all were soon on board the Osprey. 

The men towed the boat slowly to the end of the 



I08 THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 

long pier. Here for an hour they lazily rise and fall 
on the heavy swell; the men sprawling across the 
deck, whistling for a breeze; the ladies in the kitchen 
forward of the cabin, making coffee. At last, the 
wind freshens from off the lake. The clown takes the 
tiller and gives his orders : 

“Give her the jib ! ” 

Charley and the lion tamer haul in a lubberly fash- 
ion on the halliards. 

“Give her the main s’ll ! ” 

And they haul again. The wind filled the great 
spread of canvas. The yacht listed till her gunwale 
was in the water, and they flew away like a sea-bird, 
over the waves. 

The clown now gave the callioper and the lion tamer 
serious instructions as to their various duties. 

“We are outside; if you don’t keep watch and mind 
me, we’re ‘goners.’ If you don’t let go that jib-sheet, 
just when I tell you, we are over, and your mouths 
will be filled with sand ! ” 

“Oh, take us ashore ! it really is too rough,” said 
one of the ladies. And they all began to look “blue,” 
at the serious talk of the clown, except Sin; she trip- 
ped it lightly over the steep incline of the deck. 

The water dashed over the bows, as they met the 
heavy seas, sprinkling the party, with a rain of bright 
drops. 

“Here is more freedom ! ” said Charley. 

But sometimes, he thought he heard the sound of 
bells and the organ’s grand swell and the solemn in- 
tonation of the ritual of the church, where his Sun- 
days had hitherto been spent. But these reminis- 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. IO9 

cences of the day were driven away by the incessant 
orders of the skipper. It was : 

“Hoist up on the peak ! ” and, “haul in the main 
sheet ! ” interlarded with the vivid descriptions of the 
most terrible catastrophes. 

“When I was off the coast of Java, in a yacht like 
this, I told my man to hold his sheet in his hand, but 
the sea was calm as a pond, and the sun was as hot 
as it is to-day, and he went to sleep. Well, there 
came a squall, and that sheet was belayed, and over 
we went. We swept around in the currents of that 
sea, camping on the bottom of that yacht three days 
and three nights — that is, I did, for the rest, one by 
one, slid off in the night. A schooner’s yawl picked 
me off” 

“Take us in!” came the loud female chorus. “We 
don’t want to ‘camp out,’ to-night! ” 

But the amateur sailors did not find this an easy 
task; the great seas were now rolling in before the 
freshening gale. They had sailed far down below the 
port and must beat back, but the heavy seas and dash- 
ing spray and the listing of the boat unnerved them 
all, except the clown, and he became alarmed, lest 
through the blunder of his raw crew, they might go 
over, in going about. Watching anxiously for a wave 
that was smaller than the rest, at last he gives the order: 

“Ready about — down heads ! ” 

The boat’s head came up into the wind; the sails 
flopped and ropes and blocks rattled; the great boom 
swung on the deck, but the vessel did not go about. 

“Hold the jib to the windward ! ” 

“Which way is the windward.^” said the lion tamer 
to Charley. 


I 10 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


The clown swore a great oath as he put the vessel 
on her old course, that if that happened again they 
would capsize. He now taught Charley a lesson in 
sailoring, and gave his orders a second time. Amid 
the screams of the women and the oaths of the men 
they went about, just escaping a disaster. 

The now thoroughly- frightened clown had a suf- 
ficiency of yachting and held away for port, but found 
it impossible to make his starting place, and was thank- 
ful, just as the sun was going down, to get into haven 
miles below. The wind went down with the sun. It 
was arranged to make a night of it tied safely to the 
pier, and then to drive back by moonlight, in a hired 
conveyance. 

The lunch, which the roughness of the water had 
preserved untouched, was now arranged on the little 
table around the main mast, for the benefit of those 
who had proved sailors. The rest were placed in an 
improvised hospital in the lee of the light-house. The 
lion tamer was sent up into the country for a convey- 
ance. As for sailing back — not one of them would 
think of such a thing ! 

The wild revel now began. They soon forgot the 
deadly peril of the day, in wine and song and mossy 
stories. 

The ringleader was Sin, and yet, she never laughed. 
There was a set expression of wrong doing in her face 
and action, and an impression that the revelry had 
hardly reached far enough for her to take a hand in 
yet. 

Hour after hour passed, and their messenger had 
not returned, when a wild gust of wind swept over 
the pier and their boat began to rock from the swell 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


I 1 1 


off the lake. Sin and Charley went out on the pier; 
the wind was blowing so hard they could not stand; 
they crept over where the invalids lay. It was in- 
tensely dark. A long stretch of the pier ran into the 
lake, over this they could hear the sea beating heavily. 
A flash of lightning now disclosed a vast mountain 
of black cloud rising rapidly out of the west; great 
seas were dashing themselves into foam over the side 
of the pier, and far as the eye could see, the lake was 
a wilderness of crawling waves. Quickly the flashes 
increase, till a continuous light illumines the scene. A 
ragged cloud torn from the mountain, went sweeping 
over the lake, like a giant’s hand, and innumerable fi- 
ery serpents shot out from that hand, creeping, crawl- 
ing, twisting in tortuous courses; while continuous 
peals of thunder rolled down the sky. Another rag- 
ged fragment of the mountain, and then another, went 
sweeping by, until myriad giants seemed to fight 
with serpents of fire. Along the line where the lake 
and sky met, a narrow strip seemed to open a seam 
into the infernal world; across this, dragged the awful 
curtains of the storm. 

“Look,” he whispered to Sin. 

“Yes, I see; it is the gate of Hell ! ” 

They crept down the slope of the sunken pier, where 
the sea broke in whirls of foam at their feet. 

The ragged trails of dark clouds, sweeping over the 
vast expanse, were like gigantic stalactites; while the 
black heavens above, pressed down like the vault of a 
mighty sepulcher. 

Everything was moving; the rushing currents of 
water seized them, and would hurl them down that 
yawning mouth of the regions infernal : 


II2 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


“Where the sun becomes black as sackcloth of 
hair, and the moon becomes as blood,” and *‘as it were 
a great mountain of fire, is cast into the sea.” 

Through those weltering valleys of tossing waves, 
they are sucked down into the mouth of the horrible 
pit, and hear above the “noise of many waters,” the 
loud voice of the angel : 

“Woe, woe, woe to the inhabiters of the earth.” 

And then along the seam that opened behind the 
horizon of angry waters, vast corrugated segments of 
coil on coil, rose out of the sea. It was the stirring 
of the dragon in his lair And far and near, the sea 
was crowded with “scorpion shapes.” like “horses pre- 
pared for battle. And they that sat on them had 
breastplates of fire, and of jacinth and brimstone. 
And the heads of the horses were like the heads of 
lions. And out of their mouth issued fire and smoke 
and brimstone. And they had hair, as the hair of 
women. And their teeth were as the teeth of lions.” 

On came the foremost rider, and lo ! it was Sin. 
And she reached for his hand, as he was whelmed in 
in the flooT— and then he could not let her go— for he 
was chainea to her wrist. * * * A frightful peal 

of thunder rolled down the tumultous sea. By the 
light of the incessant lightning which tore the sky, 
he saw what had happened while he was in a reverie. 
A monster wave had chased up the pier, and beaten 
upon him like an avalanche, and would have washed 
him over, had not Sin who had her fingers in the 
crevices of the planks, held him firmly with her free 
hand. 

They crawled back to a safer place, and the storm 
subsided as quickly as it had risen. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


113 


The sea beat less and less tumultously ^against the 
pier; the stars shone brightly, and the lion tamer 
came rattling down with a carry-all, to take them up 
.the lake to their tents. 

‘“It was only an impression on the retina of the eye,’ 
doctor Fergus said, ‘caused by the refraction of the rays 
of light by different strata of the atmosphere,’ but I 
guess,” said Charley, “if doctor 1^'ergus had been here 
he would have seen the gates of Hell i” 

Days passed; the riotous company followed the 
half-starved wild beasts from town to town. 

The edge of this unlicensed life was turning sour for 
Charley, who had been trained for better things, when 
he found that Sin, in her wild way, was becoming 
very fond of him. This would neves do; he was 
breaking now from every tie — not forming new ones. 
He made up his mind to desert the company, and 
search for some other freebooter’s camp. Questions 
out of the “Flesh-pots of Egypt” troubled him. 

“Was license always wedded to coarseness and dirt.^ 

“If he was a free lance, must he always fellowship 
with pot-men, bummers and camp followers.^” 

This vagabond life was very far removed from that 
romantic existence in marble halls, he had dreamed 
of on his 'first voyage from home. 

He had sounded life again and had found bottom, 
with a very short line. 

He sailed hopefully when a boy, for the islands of 
“Atlantis,” that 'rose far over life’s seas, yellow and 
fair in the morning’s sun, but now, a man, he lands 
only to find them jungles of mud, where the dragon 
makes his lair. 

It was a volcanic country where the free lance 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


1 14 

roamed; he trod on ashes that constantly reminded 
him of the sea of fire that boiled and bubbled beneath 
his feet. 

He was begining his third week after his escape. 
The long night’s march was over; the tents were 
pitched and the little company had broken up after 
a late breakfast. Charley and Sin followed at the 
heels of Gustavus and Madam Zebra, down the long, 
cool street. The last few weeks had left their marks 
upon the organ maker. His bloodshot eyes; his flushed 
cheeks and nervous air, told that he was “running on 
the ties.” 

The train had just entered the station and they 
met the long procession of travelers, hastening down 
the street, with bundles and gripsacks. 

He noticed that Gustavus was becoming excited. 

“I would bet my head, Charley, if it was New York, 
now, and this was Broadway, that the sick boy, lean- 
ing on the straight lady yonder, was Brutus, my pupil 
in the histrionic art. It is Brutus ! what ails him 

“Why, Brutus, good morning, and how is King 
Richard The Third ? 

“Here, Charley, let me introduce you to an appren- 
tice in the ‘noble art.’” 

“He has just gone into the shop to buy a cigar,” 
said Sin. 

Charley had seen the companion of Brutus, and did 
not care to meet her in that company. They strolled 
on, but he did not catch up with them again. 

He turned up at the station. 

“What time does the next train go.!*” 

“Which way .!*” 

“Either.” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


II5 

“East : 3:50 P. M. West : 4: 10 P. M.” 

Charley whistled; as he turned to go out he met Sin 

“I knew you would make for the train.” 

“Why.?” 

“You did not want to meet that lady. She is here 
after you.” 

“You don’t know.” 

“Is she your wife .? ” 

“No.” 

“I don‘t believe you ! — but don’t go away.” 

“I must, and quick too !” 

“You know it is my birthday; the troupe give me 
a banquet to-night. Stay and take the early train in 
the morning.” 

Charley crawled into the vitals of the calliope, and 
remained there until dark. He appeared at the table 
that had been set in the little, rear dining hall, for a 
midnight feast, in honor of Mademoiselle Zingara’s 
twenty-fifth birthday. 

He was very reserved and quiet, but did not hesi- 
tate to take the brandy, when Sin first sipped a drop 
with her rosy lips and then handed the glass to Charley. 

Down the table sat Gustavus, and next to him was 
Brutus, who, with a boyish interest, watched the new 
picture of life that seemed very rough to him. 

Again, Sin handed her neighbor a glass of brandy. 
He drank steadily, because he was trying to forget. 

Lo! the strange metamorphosis of drunkeness. The 
quiet organ builder is no longer self-controlled, but 
loud and boisterous. 

Oh thou treacherous Spirit of Wine! that stealest 
into the ship, and stabs the man at the wheel, and 
mockest when the noble craft lays her ribs on the 
rocks. You have won again I Your victim is not 


ii6 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


conscious of his acts; his reason is eclipsed; he will 
not remember to-morrow, what he does to-night ! 

He is ready now for the rash deed that will “give 
his honor unto others and his years unto the cruel.” 

Sin liked Charley whe^i he was “in his cups.” There 
were, in spite of his desperate life of the past few weeks, 
outcroppings of his better nature, and hints of his no- 
bler life; these she both hated and feared. They van- 
ished when he was possessed of the Wine Demon. 

To-night, he was a wild, reckless Bachanal. And 
when the party broke up at a late hour, she coaxed 
him out into the air. 

“Come Charley; we will go up and see the tents 
by moonlight.” 

•‘Wha’ ye’r shay > by de bright silver light ob de 
moon ? ” 

“Yes; we’ll wake up the lions.” 

“And we’ll stir up the calliope.” 

“We’ll fire ‘old Mother Zebra’s’ mortar.” 

“We’ll cut loose ‘Frenchy’s’ balloon.” 

“You will land in the calabash.” said a sleepy police- 
man, “if you are not more quiet.” 

The caravan had reached again a village by the in- 
land sea. The tents were pitched on an old commons 
that overlooked on one side, steeples and chimneys, 
and on the other, a vast plain of silver waves, flash- 
ing in the moonlight. Here and there, a watchman 
with his light, stumbled over the tent ropes. 

The Frenchman was up yet; busy with his balloon, 
in which during the day, he elevated the brave, a lew 
hundred feet, for fifty cents a piece, and from which 
at night, he exploded fire-works over their heads. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 11/ 

“You are late, Monsieur; you are an old night hawk. 
I did not see you at my little banquet.” 

“I must make her secure,” he said, as he gazed at 
the vast ball that swung at anchor above their heads. 

“We have a fancy to take a ride up in the moon- 
light.” 

“Not at night.” 

“Why not > ” 

“It is too dangerous.” 

“Oh; who’s afraid ! ” 

“Yes; who’s afraid ! ” said Charley. 

“Wait till morning.” 

The muddled couple now sought the calliope, with 
an idea of waking up the town, but there was no steam 
and hence no music. They did not drop the idea of 
a ride to the moon, and soon reeled back to the bal- 
loon. 

The professor had lain down on some of his sand 
bags and was fast asleep. 

“Get in,’ whispered Charley. 

Sin seated herself in the basket, while Charley fum- 
bled with the ropes. Her frequent glasses of brandy 
now took effect on Sin; the instant she found a com- 
fortable reclining place, she fell off into a drunken 
stupor. 

Charley in a stupid way, tugged at the ropes. He 
untied one, and cut another, and yet the balloon did 
not go up. 

“What’s yer matter, he growled, and cut again. 
This time the great ball began slowly to rise. 

Higher and higher. It is above the flag-pole. The 
severed ropes trail over the white tents. Still it 
rises; it floats away, a dim ball now in the moonlight. 


f 


Il8 THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 

Charley stumbled as his knife severed the last rope 
that tethered the “Queen of the Sky,” and he fell heavily 
on the ground, and there he lay, with his uncovered 
head facing the sky, as good as dead, while the bal- 
loon drifted into a mere speck, and disappeared en- 
tirely. 

It was already morning, when the watchman awoke 
from his “catch nap,” in the ticket office, and rubbing 
his eyes, looked over his responsibilities. 

“It is not all right, this morning. Something is 
gone ! Well, that is it — ‘Frenchy’s’ balloon has col- 
lapsed again. Those little rascals, he pulled out 
by the heels, from under the tent, have pricked his 
big bubble. I think I will proceed to ascertain how 
loud he will talk, when he finds out, he will have to 
pay for filling up again. 

Frenchy, Frenchy, wake up; where is the 'Queen of 
the Sky.?’” 

The Frenchman was on his feet in an instant. 

“My Heavens ! where is she .? Where is my ‘Queen 
of the Sky.?’” 

And he rushed out on the bluff, where he could 
have a good view of the sky 

The watchman spied Charley where he lay, limp 
and lumpy, like a corpse thrown out of .a bag. His 
coat was heavy with dew, and his face was powdered 
with dust, and strewn with bits of straw. You would 
say that he was dead ; long dead. Joe knew better. 

“Get up; Charley ; get up, and crawl into your calli- 
ope, they might back a wagon down on you.” 

The “corpse” came to life at the first kick ; looked 
vaguely at the tents, and then walked unsteadily down 
the street. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


1 19 

The last impression he could recall, was his purpose 
to take the early morning train, lest Ruth Falbert 
should meet him in that shameful company. To the 
depot, therefore, he now attempted to walk. How 
his head ached ! how sick he was ! what a mountain 
of impending evil weighed upon him ! 

He sat down to wait for the train. The depot 
master came in, opening his morning mail. One en- 
velope contained a small poster, that he unfolded and 
pinned on the bulletin. Charley read it to drive away 
the “blues.” 

$50.00 REWARD ! ! 

— o — 

The above reward will be given for the return of 
J. Johnstone Kent, an escaped lunatic, to Doctor 
Blackman, Hygienic Home, Mount Pilgrim. He is 
very dangerous. He has a delusion, that his name is 
Charley Clinton. * * * 

And then followed a description that was somewhat 
startling to Charley. 

While he was reading, Gustavus came in, and read 
also. 

“Funny, ain’t it ; that some lunatic should want to 
take your name ? ” 

“He can have it ! ” 

Gustavus looked at him sharply. 

“Charley, where you last night ” 

“At the banquet.” 

“After that ? ” 

“I don’t know ; that brandy went to my head, and 
my recollections of last night are somewhat confusing.” 

“Can you recall anything, after you left the hotel.?” 

“I can remember rising ^'rom the table, but not any- 


120 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


thing after that, till Joe woke me up stiff and sore 
this morning. But, why do you cross question me like 
a lawyer ? You know how it is yourself, often enough!” 

“There’s an awful row up there this morning. They 
say you and Sin went up to the tents, after the ban- 
quet, on a lark, and that yoi^ cut the ropes, and let 
‘Frenchy’s’ balloon blow out on the lake.” 

“It is a lie; I was not up there with Sin; I never 
cut any ropes 1 ” 

“Where were you ? ” 

“I tell you, I don’t know.” 

“‘Frenchy’ says he is certain you were up there when 
he went to sleep, and Sin wanted him to give her a 
ride. At any rate, the balloon is gone, and Frenchy’ 
is terribly ‘cut up.’” 

Charley felt in his pocket for his knife, but did not 
find it I 

“Where is Sin ” he said, hoarsely. 

“She was not down yet, when I came from the 
the hotel.” 

“She will tell you this is a lie.” 

“What is a lie.?” 

‘ I don’t know; something dreadful that you said I 
did last night, when I was out of my head.” 

“What brought you up here so early .? ” 

“I was going away on this train.” 

“I would not go if I were you.” 

“Why .? ” 

“There are ugly rumors in the air.” 

“Then I will not go.” 

Gustavus watched him for some moments, with a 
doubtful air, and then hesitatingly asked : 

“Is your real name J. Johnstone Kent.?” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


I2I 


“No; but if you should deliver me up at Mount 
Pilgrim, you would get the fifty dollars reward ! ” 

“What do you mean ?” 

Charley looked at his friend; a weak-eyed, wishy- 
washy adventurer. His “sounding line” would strike 
bottom quick in such a shallow character. But he 
needed a friend. He sat down and told him as much 
of his history as was necessary to inform him of the 
situation. 

Gustavus was greatly excited. 

“Why, it is as good as a play. We will get Lewis 
to write up a drama in five acts. But don’t give up; 
I will stand in with you. You must hide somewhere 
for a few hours, until I find what is the row.” 

“Where ? I can not go to the tents, nor to the hotel.” 

“And you can not stay here any longer. I’ll tell you 
what you can do. There is an old church that was 
open yesterday down on the four corners. Go through 
the orchard and get in there. You know all about 
the organ; hide in some corner of it until I come and 
let you know what is going on.” 

Charley was now intensely alarmed; he leaned his 
aching head upon his hands. 

“If I only knew what I did, and where I was.” 

He tried to pick up the broken threads of events 
byt he could not get beyond the breaking up of the 
banquet. After that, his mind seemed to have failed 
to register his acts. 

He looked at the poster and his name was strange 
to him. He seemed to be living in a mist; perhaps 
he was insane ! 

In a few moments, Gustavus came hurrying back. 

“Charley, where is Sin ? ” 


122 


THE WOODEN liOTTLE. 


‘ Up in her room, I suppose.” 

“No; she is not there, and Madam Zebra says, she 
has not been in her room all night ! ” 

“Where is she ” 

“No one knows; can’t you think where you left her 
last night ? ” 

“I must have left her with the company, at the 
hotel.” 

“‘Frenchy’ is positive that you were with her at the 
tents. But the depot master has been down town, 
and that reward for you is all out; every one now is 
sure you are an escaped lunatic and have murdered 
Sin ! You must hide this very minute, or you are 
lost ! ” 

Charley was brave enough to face an army of luna- 
tic hunters, but this awful bank unmanned him; that 
leaf torn out of his memory, had a great, unknown 
terror for him; what dreadful deed had he committed 
when he was not himself.? He had heard of good 
men, when they were drunken, that they killed their 
best friends. Perhaps, just now, they have found poor 
Sin, lying in the dewy grass. And now they try to 
awaken her; there is blood on that scanty, faded 
silk; it has oozed from a wound in her forehead; there 
are marks of powder on her pale face ! 

He rapidly draws the rusty pistol, he seized from 
the keeper, but all the chambers are loaded. 

“Perhaps, we strolled out on the pier. They may 
be dragging the water now ! Must that cruel drag- 
iron tear her tender flesh.? What booty have the 
ghastly fishers now, as they reel in fathom after fathom 
of slimy coil.? Only a lily rises from the disturbed 
depths; — no! it is a little, cold, shapeless hand, with 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


123 


a white cuff and flashing stud, thrust up into the sun- 
light; it points to me : ‘thou art my murderer.’ Who 
cut the balloon loose } Where is my knife ? Was 
Sin in that balloon ? Was she blown out on that 
wild, dark sea, far away in the lonely wilderness of 
waters, where the great waves, with their frightful 
foam-crests chase each other like myriad wild wolves 
hungry for their prey. Even now, the frail basket 
sinks lower and lower. And now, it is entangled in 
the foam of the highest wave, and poor Sin, her little 
feet on the outer rim, thrusts her hands- in the ropes 
above her streaming hair — but yonder comes the King 
Wave ! he will seize his prey. * * * ” 

Gustavus arouses him. There was not a moment 
to lose. 

“Get into the old church; they will search the 
church, but hide in the organ; stay there until dark, 
if you do not hear from me before.” 

Charley wertt down to the church, carefully keep- 
ing in the privacy of the low boughs of the apple trees. 
It was Sunday morning, and the villagers were en- 
joying their pipes, in their clean shirt sleeves, on the 
front porches, and he gained, unnoticed, an entrance 
into the church, through the rear door. . 

He knew an organ so well, that he went at once to 
a corner where a few simple tools were strapped for 
use in its repair, and taking a screwdriver, ne unfast- 
ened one of the large panels of the case, and fasten- 
ing the screw on the inside, he entered, and used that 
as a handle to lift the panel into its place again. Here 
he was absolutely free from discovery. 



CHAPTER XI 

THE FLIGHT. 

UTH took Brutus and left New 
York, as soon as she was possessed 
of the true clue to Charley’s where- 
abouts. 

Brutus, through his acquaintance 
with Gustavus, expected to gain for 
her an interview. 

The day after her arrival was Sun- 
day and the air was filled with fly- 
ing reports, that caused her the 
greatest dismay. 

“They have just found out,” said Brutus, “that 
Charley escaped from Mount Pilgrim.” 

“Well, they know he is not crazy.” 

“That is just the trouble; he is insane.” 

“Charley Clinton crazy ! ” 

“Yes; I saw him last night at Mademoiselle Zin- 



THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


125 


gara’s banquet; he did not talk or act like himself. 
They are telling awful stories about him on the street.” 

“What stories ? ” 

“Why, that he is stark mad, and killed poor Zin- 
gara last nignt, and put her body in the balloon car 
and cut the ropes and let her drift out to sea.” 

“Surely, no one believes such a thing ! ” 

“Yes they do; he is hid away, and a mob is gather- 
ing to search the town; he cannot get away, and I 
am afraid they will have him before night.” 

And search the town they did. Ruth saw bands of 
men entering barns, sheds, stores and the old church, 
and even her own room was searched by the vigilant 
officers, but to the surprise of every one, no trace was 
found of Charley or Sin. 

At noon it was decided that Sin was murdered, and 
her body carried out to sea, and Charley — he must 
have jumped off the pier. 

Ruth had not dreamed of such a tragical ending to 
her long journey. Anxious and worried, she set out 
for a walk, to quiet her nerves. The old church was 
open and solitary. She went in and sat down at the 
organ and began to play a tune that Kate had taught 
her. But she could not divert her mind from her 
old companion, who bore that strange brand. He 
had been used badly of late; jilted and kidnapped, 
and imprisoned — but then — he ought not to have 
thrown himself away — for the sake of his friends he 
ought not to have done this. Tears poured down her 
cheeks and deep sighs broke the silence of the old 
church. Out of the depths of the organ, came a plain- 
tive sound of her own name : 

“Ruth, Ruth.” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


126 

At first she was awed by the unexpected call in 
such a place, but she knew the tone. 

“Charley ? Charley ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Hush ! they are searching aftef you.” 

“Yes I know it. Why did you come here.?” 

“I came for you.” 

“For me ! no one cares for me.” 

“Charley .?” 

“Yes.” 

“Will you go back with me .?” 

“It is too late ! I have thrown myself away..” 

“What have you done .?” 

“I do not know what I have done ! but I drank long 
and hard, because I had no friends, and I did not 
want to think, and I have done some dreadful deed, 
while I was out of my head ! ” 

“Oh ! what will you do .? ” 

“I shall get away to-night on a yacht; change my 
name, and begin life over again.” 

“Charley.?” 

“Yes.” 

“I will go with you.” 

“No, no; you cannot. Perhaps I am a murderer! 
Charley Clinton is dead. I shall turn up in a new 
life, if I live.” 

VAnd so shall I.” 

“It cannot be; I have nothing to leave behind me 
except bitter enemies and a ruined name; but you 
have a fortune and friends and a place.” 

“You will tell me where you go .?” 

“Yes; I can do that, for you are my only friend. I 
knew an old comrade by the same name of Ruth, and 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


127 


far away in quiet seclusion, is the little cross-road 
where we lived. An irresistable longing has possessed 
me to get back and begin my life over again.” 

“And I shall go there and begin my life over again 
also ! ” 

“Ruth, is there any one else in the church 

“No.” 

“Then I will come out a moment.” 

“No, no; there are men in the street, and they will 
look in. Brutus told me at noon, that there was a 
rumor that you were seen going in the direction of 
the church, through the orchard, this morning. I am 
afraid they will find you.” 

“They will not find me, unless they know that I am 
an organ builder, and even then, they might take down 
the case, and unless they took down large pipes, they 
could not see me.” 

“I hope they will not take you .?” 

“Why ? I am a murderer ! ” 

“No, no, Charley; I will not believe that.” 

“I am sure I did some evil thing when I was drunk 
last night. It is dreadful. I will die. I wish I were 
dead ! And Ruth could hear him sobbing. 

“Charley, ^don’t break down. If you get away. I 
will go with you into that new world.” 

“No, no.” 

“I will give up my fortune and my name, and lost 
to the world, we will begin anew.” 

“Never. It is too late — too late.” 

''I will go; you cannot escape me!'' 

But now the bell tolls for vespers. Ruth took her 
place in a pew, but her heart was in the organ. A few 
people strolled into the church. 


128 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


Charley was in no mood to participate in the ser- 
vices. The discovery that Ruth Falbert was so deep- 
ly interested in him, filled his soul with vain regret 
and bitter self-accusations 

And this dreadful day was the fruit of his coveted 
independence. He had excused his wild foray into 
the city of Sodom, because of his ill treatment on all 
sides, but license did not seem so pleasurable this day 
as she drew around him, her chains of red-hot fetters 
that burned into his soul. 

The preacher now began the woods of his text, and 
this was the sermon that the poor fugitive heard, 
cooped up in the organ : 

“Three young men that were of the guard, spake 
one to another. 

“Let every one of us speak a sentence. He that 
shall overcome, and whose sentence shall seem wiser 
than the others; unto him shall King Darius give 
great gifts; as, to be clothed in purple; to drink in gold 
and ride in chariots of gold, and to sleep in gold; and 
a head tire of fine linen and a chain about his neck. 

“The first wrote : WINE is the strongest. 

“The second wrote : THE KING is the strongest. 

“The third wrote : WOMEN are the strongest; TRUTH 
beareth away the victory. 

“The first spake for his sentence : O ye men how 
exceeding strong is Wine; it causes all men to err 
that drink it; and when they are in their cups they 
forget their friends; but when they are from Wine 
they remember not what they have done. 

“The second spake for the strength of the King; 
but the third spake for Women, and for Truth : O ye 
men; It is not the great King, neither is it Wine that 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


129 


excelleth ; what is it, that hath lordship over men ? 
Is it not women ? Yea, many there be that have run 
out of their wits for women, many have perished; have 
erred, and sinned for women. 

“Wine is wicked. 

“The King is wicked. 

“Women are wicked ; as for Truth it endureth, and 
is always strong ; it liveth and conquereth forever- 
more.” 

Charley heard and trembled. 

“How strange ! when I looked out of my prison, at 
the sunset, from Mount Pilgrim, I saw Heaven; when 1 
looked at the storm-swept sea, I saw Hell ! when I 
look out of this pit of my misery, I hear the very truth 
of all my calamities, reflected again, in the very words 
of the Bible. Father Tom was right ; the Bible is the 
complement of Nature’s revelations !” 

The service .ended ; the people dispersed, and 
Charley waited iippatiently. 

The sun had not yet set, when Gustavus and Ruth 
came and whispered to Charley that, if they could 
take the breeze that was blowing from the north, they 
might get an offlng, but if they waited till dark, it 
might go down with the sun. Would he take the 
chances } 

“Yes.” 

Ruth suggested that he change his garments as 
much as possible, and take her arm ; he would pass 
for Brutus. 

Gustavus now kept watch while Charley put on 
Brutus’s coat and hat, and took his cane. The dis- 
guise was more successful, because Brutus had been 
forced to wear dark glasses, since his illness, these he 


130 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


sacrificed, and Charley taking Ruth’s arrh, boldly set 
forth. The towns-people had been used during the day 
to the sight of this peculiar couple, and let them pass 
unnoticed. They gained the pier safely, and Brutus 
came down soon afterwards. 

It was but a moment’s work to cast off, and hoist 
the sails, but it was necessary to make two tacks to get 
out. Instead of going down, the wind had freshened 
into a gale. The boat listed, and a heavy sea was 
running. 

“Are you going outside ?” bawled a sailor, who sat 
on a spile — as they put about as near as they could to 
the pier — to make out on the next board if possible. 

“Yes.” 

“You will go over ! ” 

The sight of a sail making out of the harbor Sunday 
evening, in the face of such a gale, brought down a 
crowd on the pier, and every one was sure that the 
fugitive was on the yacht. 

The boat swept down on the outward tack: 

Although Gustavus put the boat into the wind as 
near as he could, and keep her headway through the 
heavy seas that swept around the pier-head, he saw 
that she would go very near the pier, in passing out. 

“Brutus 

“Yes.” 

“They are watching us — they are getting ready to 
take us as we pass the pier. I will keep as far away 
as possible — but don’t let anybody jump on board!” 

The crowd on the pier now recognized Charley, for 
in this hurried working of the ship on such short 
boards, his hat and glasses had gone to leeward. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 131 

“That’s him ! that’s him ! Fifty dollars, if you get 
him dead or alive ! ” 

Some were sent for the officers, others volunteered 
to stop the boat. 

Gustavus stood at the tiller, pale and thin; the wind 
blowing out his long, black hair. A poor dissipated 
wretch was he; homeless, friendless, despised and 
wronged with impunity. For a pioment, the safety 
of these friends — almost strangers — was in his care. 

It was now evident that the boat would make out 
on this tack if she held on, but must pass within ten 
feet of the pier. The officers were running down the 
wharf. A coarse, brutal man mounted a barrel that 
stood at the end of the pier and hailed the pale helms- 
man : 

“Luff up!” 

No notice was taken of this order and the boat rapid- 
ly approached the danger-point. 

“Luff up and come about, I say 1 ” and he drew a 
revolver, with a sinister motion. 

Charley was frightened; he did not care to have his 
friend sacrificed for his safety. 

“You had better come about.” 

Still the bowsprit, pointing seaward, rose and fell 
on the increasing seas, and every inch of the canvas 
stretched like a drum-head, in the fresh gale. 

“Luff up — once I ” 

“Shall I let go .?” said Charley. 

“I guess we had best let go,” echoed Brutus. 

“I can get out of that crazy-house again. Don’t 
you think I had best let go ? ” 

“Luff up — twice 1! ” 


T32 the wooden bottle. 

“Say the word to let go ! ” 

“Luff up — three times! ! !'' 

“Hold on, all ! Hold on, I say ! ! " 

Crack — crack, went the pistol; two tiny puffs of 
smoke swept to the leeward; away flew the little vessel 
the water washing the cabin windows and the jib wet 
to the reef points, with the bowsprit plunging in the 
seas. As the vessel showed her stern, two men were 
seen in the cockpit; a woman’s head was thrust out 
of the companion-way and the third man was working 
forward, with considerable skill, for a lunatic. 

The crowd on the pier was sure of its prey. No 
boat could stay long outside, in that rising swell. 
Either they would capsize and be driven in, clinging to 
the bottom, or they would be forced to put about when 
they got into blue water. But to every one’s surprise, 
they kept on their course, listing, jerking, rising and 
falling; once thrown up into the wind to reef, they 
worked out. Until, as night set in, a dreary sight it 
was, to see that little, rocking sail, far out on the 
lonely waters, still pointing into the black storm that 
was rising out of the north. 

“I would not care to be out there just now where that 
boat is, with the cold, black seas a’breaking over her 
nose ! ” 

“I’d rather chance it in the lock-up to night, if I’d 
been in his place.” 

“They will send the Hornet after them, as soon as 
they can get up steam.” 

“They never can overhaul that boat, if she floats 
till dark.” 

“They can’t find her; she is bound for the bottom ! ” 

“He has more grit than common sense ! ” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


133 


“But they say he is a crazyman ?” 

“Well, no one but a crazyman would be out where 
he is to-night !” 

The situation out on the yacht, as night set in, was 
not as rough as it seemed from the shore, but it was 
bad enough. 

As soon as they reached blue water, it required two 
at the tiller ; Ruth was therefore instructed in hand- 
ling the sheets, and turned sailor. The vessel was 
reefed down ; lights were hung out, and every pre- 
caution was taken to help the boat make a good fight 
with the dark seas that beat heavily against her bows 
and washed her decks. 

The prospect was dark. All night they must labor 
without sleep, drenched, and every moment alert and 
on the watch. Once, Charley, as he stood by the 
halliards, ready to drop the peak, looked back at the 
indistinct form of Ruth, as she stood with her feet 
braced against the gunwale, clenching the wet sheet. 
She was looking into the black night, towards which 
they were plunging, fearlessly. Charley began to see 
his mistake. He thought he had sounded a woman’s 
nature, in his experience with Kate Rainswirth, but 
he had not fathomed blue water. Far as the capabil- 
ities of his own rich nature reached; to hope, to feel, 
to dare, to aspire; here was a woman's nature, that 
reached deeper still; here was one person who would 
understand him and appreciate him; because, her na- 
ture was stronger than his — but it is too late! too 
late! and the black, curling monsters of the deep, as 
they perpetually hurl themselves down on the devoted 
vessel, roar — it is too late! too late! — and the wild 


34 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


wind that blew with the persistency of fate, shrieked, 
it is too late ! — too late ! 

But the poor fellow had little opportunity to repine 
— so constantly was he kept busy by orders from Gus- 
tavus. Before long, so desperate was the struggle, the 
group seemed cast out of the world. The events of 
the day, the village and the people, seemed years 
away in their lives. 

For some hours, they saw the flash-light, in the 
tower on the hill, and that was a friendly tie that 
bound them to the world, but it lowered slowly, till 
at last it flashedJ and when they watched, it did not 
flash again, they knew they had sank the light. Then 
there was a moment when the dreadful gloom and 
horror of that black wrack of crawling seas with those 
pale, foam crests, unmanned them all, even Gustavus 
was appalled. 

When one sea much larger than the others, struck 
the little vessel and poured over the deck, burying 
the cabin windows, Charley could restrain his feelings 
no longer; he would not let these noble friends drown 
for him. 

“Ready, about!” he shouted. “You must not all 
die for me. I am a Jonah ! perhaps I am a murderer I 
Ready, about 1 ” 

“Hold on I Hold on all, I say ! ” shouted Gustavus. 
/am skipper and you must obey me. We cannot go 
back; this craft would not live five minutes, with the 
great seas running behind her; we could not ^ail fast 
enough to keep out of their way. I am captain of 
this vessel, a7id they who do not wish to mind me^ may 
step ashore!''^ 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 1 35 

“What do you suppose the owner of the boat will 
say, when he sees her out here ?” 

I am the owner of the boat,” said Ruth. I bought 
her last night, when I found we must have one.” 

“And I spent all this day, overhauling her blocks 
and running-gear. And I must keep her where she 
is, while this wind holds. You just watch out, and 
don’t get washed overboard, for we cannot stop to 
hunt you up } ” 

And Charley turned his face northwards again and 
tried to lose his trouble and fear, in his ceaseless care 
and toil. Sometimes the boat listed until he was sure 
she would go over, then the cry rang out : 

“Lower the peak ! ” 

Or, else, the boat was thrown up into the wind and 
the great boom came swinging in over the deck, with 
rattling blocks and flapping sails, and when the fury 
of the squall passed she was put on her course again^ 

Hour after hour passed; still the same, fierce wind, 
the ceaseless rushing of the cruel seas, the same watch- 
ing and fighting. And all the while, the woman never 
flinched; now bailing out the water with a pail; now 
hauling on the straining sheets as the listing vessel 
threatened to bury her boom in the sea. Her head 
was uncovered; her arms were bare; her long hair, 
wet and heavy, hung in bunches over her shoulders. 
The foam of the cruel flood curling at her feet, she 
made a striking, picture illuminated by the pale swing- 
ing lamp, against the dark gloom of the night. 

“We can’t keep this up long,” said Charley to her. 

“Yes we can,” she cried, “we have only just started!” 

“I am not afraid for myself — if it were not for you. 
Ruth, why did you come ! ” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


136 


“I am glad I came. It is a grand fight, and I like 
the excitement. If we get through, it will be a glori- 
ous victory And we w/// get through: soon you will 
will see the morning stars ! ” 

Her courage and resolution animated the rest. Bru- 
tus wondered at her self-possession, and worshiped 
her. He was almost stupefied with horror, his tongue 
stuck to the roof of his mouth, he moved only when 
Gustavus crowded against him; he clung to the stick, 
with his eyes shut, mostly, and when he wa^ forced to 
open them, he turned sick, at the sight of the inclined 
decks, the jerking spars, the towering waves, and the 
dreadful gloom that environed them — but he stuck to 
his post, and only the sharp eye of the woman noticed 
his deadly fear and manly fortitude. 

Thus the night wore on. They hardly knew when 
it was morning, it came so slowly. And when at last 
the sun shone through the clouds, it was already far 
up in the heavens. They could see nothing as far as 
the eye could reach, but the white-caps of the tumb- 
ling seas. No sail — no land. Then they all were awe- 
struck, as they looked back over their course, and 
wondered how their frail boat had lived through that 
dreadful night! 

“Charley, keep up,” cried the woman, “the wind is 
not so fierce.” And with the rising sun, the wind did 
go down, and the sea fell perceptibly. 

When the wind suddenly died away, their condition 
was most distressing. . Without any headway, their 
little vessel rose and fell, in the long swells that fol- 
lowed the storm The bowsprit splashed down into 
the sea, with the reefed jib, the great boom rose and 
fell with a jerk, that threatened to snap the mast and 


1 HE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


137 


the re-action after the excitement of the day, left 
them weak and desponding. But they managed to 
eat a hurried meal, and Gustavus ordered Ruth and 
Brutus to get some sleep. Ruth laid down in a berth, 
with her head near the binnacle, and Brutus took the 
floor, with his head on a life-preserver. 

At noon, a spanking breeze came fresh from the 
south-east and cleared up the sky and sent them fl; - 
ing on their course again. They enjoyed the bright 
sunshine, the sparkling, blue water and the sense of 
safety, as they rose and fell with a delicious motion, 
on the rolling seas. An age of life was contrat:ted 
into the long and perilous watches of that night, and 
when they sailed out of it, they seemed to have reached 
a remote region of the world. 

“Why, I know you,” said Brutus to Charley, “as 
well as if I had met you years ago.” 

“Yes,” said he, “we are a family all by ourselves, 
blown out of the world in a fashion so rudely that our 
mutual peril binds us more closely to each other.” 

Ruth, who had woke up now and made a couch of 
an old sail on the deck, said that the world behind her 
seemed like a dream, so thoroughly had she been 
shaken out of it by the unusual experience of the night 
before. “And I never wish to go back to it again.” 

“I wish it never had been ! ” said Charley. 

“It was a long night.” said Brutus. 

“If it was long to you, what do you think it seemed 
to me, who knew that my criminal recklessness had 
involved my friends in such great danger.? I tell you, 
I saw Sin sweep by, where the red light of the lamps 
touched the rushing foam; her face was buried in 
the sea, but her long, white arm reached back towards 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


13S 

me. If you had not needed me, I would have thrown 
myself in after her — I would ! What a night ! My 
Heavens ! Could a glass of brandy do that ! ’ 

“Don’t worry over what can’t be helped,” said Gus- 
tavus. 

Charley now took the tiller, and gave the weary 
skipper his chance to sleep. Brutus followed him, 
sleepy and tired. Charley had no desire to sleep ; his 
eyes were blood-shot, and his face haggard. He 
watched Ruth, who lay with her arms under her head, 
dozing on the old sail. 

This was the very hour that Charley fell in love 
with Ruth. Robbed by the storm, of every artificial 
accessory, her true nature, grace and beauty, were 
apparent. To her healthful action ; her frank affect- 
tion ; her courage and kindness, was joined an exqui- 
site loveliness. She looked — in the shower of spark- 
ling drops that rained upon her, as the bow dashed in- 
to the fresh seas — like a full-blown, June rose, sway- 
ing in the summer rain. 

Her kindness, and condesension, drew Charley to 
her — and to life. And he needed a strong influence, 
just at this time — indeed, so heavily did that mysteri- 
ous crime weigh upon him, he would have jumped 
overboard, if it had not been for Ruth. This great 
sorrow made him exceedingly tender towards one, who 
pitied him, and had risked her life for him. 

■ “Don’t brood over your troubles, Charley,” she said. 

•T cannot stop thinking, can I 

“You are not sure yet, that Sin is lost !” 

“Sometimes I hope not; but this dreadful impression 
v/ill not away ; it must have a foundation, in some 
fearful crime I have commited,, when I was under the 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


139 


influence of that fatal draught. And the absence of 
Sin is too horrible to think of!” 

“Perhaps she came back after we left.” 

“Where from.? Can the dead come back again.?” 

“You are not sure that she is dead.” 

“I saw her last night! ‘and her lily-white hand 
pointed out of those cruel waters to her murderer ! ” 

“You were tired and nervous, and in any event, 
whatever you did, was unintentional.” 

“My sin was this : I let go the Right purposely — 
I was misused — and for that negligence, I must, in 
some out-of-the-way hamlet — lost to my name and 
place, go in sorrow and shame, all the days of my 
life, alone.” - 

“Not all alone — for I shall go also — lost to my name 
and place, too.” 

“No; I have said no ! ” 

“And I have said yes ! ” 

She raised her hand and seized a halliard, as the 
deck was more sharply inclined by a puff of wind. 
The loose sleeve of her dress caught in a cleet of the 
mast and her arm was bared to her elbow. Her lit- 
tle hand to the wrist, was red and tanned with water 
and wind, contrasting with her white arm. But just 
below the elbow was a red mark, that made Charley 
jump with surprise. 

“Where did you get that mark on your arm .?” 

“Where did you get that mark on your arm .?” she 
answered. 

“How did you know I had a mark on my arm?” 
said he. 

“I have seen it.” 


140 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


“Where > ” 

“In the factory, when the crazy lawyer knocked 
you down.” 

“I knew a Ruth Johns, once — a little girl, who wore 
that mark.” 

“I am that same Ruth ! Do you remember that 
summer afternoon, you left me on the old ferry.? Life 
has not turned out as gloriously as you expected. — 
And do you recall the legend, that the old priest told 
concerning this mark ? I am the Dane ! I have been 
wounded. I cannot tell you how, just now, but I will 
tell you sometime. You are the Swede, and you were 
wounded sorely, also, when Kate Rainswirth sold you 
for a thousand-dollar bond ! Did I not offer you the 
wine from the wooden bottle, when I tried to console 
you, that day in the church, by the new organ .? and 
you wounded me in return! And now, you shall have 
some wine, but I can offer you only half, for you, by 
your own hand, have spilled the rest I You have ex- 
cuses for your conduct, but the penalty we must pay! 
My name, my fortune, I must leave behind to follow 
you — half of the wine is gone ! ” 

“Never ! ” said Charley. 

“Can we be separated.?” said she ; and she touched 
the mark pn her arm. 

Charley leaned over his -tiller, and sobbed. And 
Ruth, leaving the deck, came and sat by his side. 

“Can you forgive me .? ” he cried. 

And for answer, she kissed his hot forehead. And 
this was Charley’s true courtship — with a sin in his 
heart, heavy as lead — in a strange world of waters — 
his companions fast asleep in the cabin. 

At three o’clock, Gustavus came up on deck ; look- 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. I41 

ed in every direction, and then climbed to the cross- 
trees, and returned with the inteligence, that he 
could see land, if the breeze held, they could get 
in that night. And sure enough, just as darkness was 
creeping over the lake again, they drew near to land. 
They could see no port — only forests and precipitous 
headlands 

They sailed along the coast for miles, before they 
saw friendly lights, where a large creek emptied into 
the lake Running in as near as they dared, they 
dropped anchor and waved their lights. In the boat 
that came out to them, were two figures, who were 
closely covered with bright-red blankets. These na- 
tives greatly interested Brutus, who was intensly re- 
lieved when he saw land. When the boatmen saw 
that they were not custom officers, they took a rope, 
and piloted the storm-beaten vessel into a safe haven. 
And it was just in time. The water was motionless, 
and not a breath of air stirred — but a mountain of 
clouds was piling up, in the south. 

Great was the triumph of Brutus and Gustavus; they 
shook hands over the furled mainsail ; they cheered till 
the woods rang again. 

“Where did you come from.?” said the fisherman. 

“From the other side.” 

“Were you out last night .?” 

“You bet we were ! ” 

“I don’t believe you! ’T was the worst blow of the 
year.” 

“ ’T was a little squally.” 

“That boat couldn’t live out there last night.” 

“We’re the skippers that could make her stick it out; 
ain’t we Brutus .? When I was in Terra del Fuego 


142 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


” But the boat was now secure, and the rain fall- 
ing, they all ran into the fisherman’s cabin. The wife 
cared for Ruth, and the men made themselves com- 
fortable around the drift-wood fire on the hearth. 

Ruth came in, dressed in the quaintest style, with 
“odds and ends” of the fisherwoman’s wardrobe. The 
wind rose and howled around the little log house. 

“Let it howl,” cried Ruth. “It sounds delightful 
when we are safe and sound on land and my bonnie 
boat is securely anchored.” 

Two of the men clapped their hands at the sight of 
Ruth, but Charley looked sober and haggard. He 
was thinking of Sin, still tossing to and fro, in those 
dark waves, out there where the lightning flashed and 
the thunder rolled. 

Gustavus and his boon companionjiow made several 
trips to the boat, returning with baskets and bundles. 

“We are going to make a night of it! ” said Gustavus. 

After supper Gustavus borrowed an iron kettle and 
soon had a steaming brew of punch. The room was 
fragrant with lemons and whiskey. Ruth was thought- 
I’ul, but said nothing. 

Charley was studying a rude map, the fisherman 
had made with a fork, on the deal table, to show him 
where he was. 

There was brought to him the glass of hot punch, 
to open the revel. Charley took the glass, but instead 
of drinking from it, to the surpri.se of Gustavus, who 
stood with open mouth, he extended it the length of 
his arm and cursed the contents : 

“To think, that such a draught as that, should have 
poisoned my soul and made me a murderer 1 ” And he 
threw the glass on the hearth and crushed it under 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


143 


his feet. Never will I again drink a poison that robs 
me of my self-consciousness for an instant ! ” 

“Hush — hush, Charley; if the natives in the next 
room heard that, they would have us all in the com- 
mon jail ! ” 

Charley shuddered at that grim word. 

Gustavus and Brutus went out to the fiishermen, 
who were more appreciative of their fragrant brew, 
and left Charley and Ruth to talk over their plans — 
which amounted to nothing because of Charley’s de- 
jection. But these plans did not matter just now, for 
the next morning the lake was rolling and tumbling 
again, and until Saturday night it was impossible for 
them to sail. 

They were prisoners most of the time in the little 
cabin of the yacht, or by the hearth of the log house, 
until Saturday, when preparations were made to break 
up the little party. 

Gustavus and his pupil, were to go back to New 
York. Charley and Ruth were to go — no one but 
themselves, knew whither. For, in secret, they had 
studied the maps and charts in the yacht, but at this 
remote spot, to all their friends, they were to disap- 
pear! 

Ruth had carefully drawn up a last will and testa- 
ment, describing the disposition she wished made of 
all her property, immediately, and intrusted the doc- 
ument to Brutus, to be handed to Simeon. 

It was a delightful July morning. The lake lay in 
the warm sunlight, like a great plain of burnished 
silver; while the forest rose like a vast tent of green 
away from the sandy shore to the blue hills of the up- 
lands. 


144 


THE OGDEN BOTTLE. 


The little party was utterly cast down. The circle 
of friendship that had been welded together in peril 
and labor, beyond the blue horizon, could not be 
broken without tears. Charley was inconsolable — this 
was another result of his dark crime ! Ruth found out 
that a sheep-track led four miles through the woods, 
to the old Lake Road, where there was a stone church. 
She now proposed that they should all go to the after- 
noon service. Gustavus refused point-blank. 

“I hope you don’t think, I would walk four miles to 
hear an olc> monograph, on the ‘Riddles of Sampson.’ 
Don’t go Brutus. That long-legged Mike, has tramp- 
ed already this morning, two miles beyond the church, 
to a good purpose, for he came loping down the sheep- 
track, with two black bottles sticking out of his coat 
tails.” And Gustavus made sundry popping explosions 
with his mouth, and a gurgling in his throat, which 
were supposed to imitate the popping of a champagne 
bottle and the pouring out of its contents. 

Ruth watched Brutus thoughtfully, but said nothing. 

“1 am just wild to go to church,” said he. “I would 
follow any one ten miles, if I was sure he was going 
to church.” 

And the company broke up for the day. There was 
peace everywhere, except in Charley’s sad heart He 
was silent most of the way. 

They found a quaint, old stone church. A few farm- 
er folks, from the clearings about, sat in the unpainted, 
straight-back seats. 

A pale clergyman, with a long, white beard and sad 
eyes, read the prayers, with a pathetic voice. His 
sermon was only a few simple words, fitted to the 
needs of his little flock. ^ 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 145 

“Out of the deep have I cried unto thee, O Lord;” 
was his text. 

He spake as one, who, himself had cried out of the 
depths; and with the assurance of experience, he 
touched the sore places in the hearts of his simple 
auditors. 

“Out of the depths of Poverty;” and then Tom 
Feilders, falling lame and growing blind, the father of 
nine children, and the owner of never so much as one 
sheep; looked up and was fed. 

“Out of the depths of Woe; ” and poor Betsy Weeds 
whose young husband was struck by a thunderbolt, 
when he ran under a tree to get Out out of the rain; 
she, a poor, broken-hearted lass; looked up and was 
fed also. 

“Out of the depths of Doubt;” and then old Peter 
Galatians looked up; he had of late, been much con- 
cerned about the hereafter, because his days here were 
sure to be few; his spiritual calculations had been all 
upset, by so slight a thing as a bit of newspaper that 
was wrapped around his last bottle of “bitters,” in 
which he read what some visionary “wool-gatherer” 
had evolved out of the cloud from his tobacco pipe 
namely : that he did not know as there was any here- 
after; to him the preacher began : “O foolish Galatians, 
»who hath bewitched you ? ” 

“Out of the depths of a great Sin; ” and then Charley 
he looked up ! 

“What will he say now, this good man ? He speaks 
as if he had been poor; as if his own heart had been 
torn with sorrow and he, himself, had lain in the 
Dungeon of Doubt. But, surely, my dreadful lot is 


146 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


alien to him. He has never been cast in these depths! 
Now he will conventionalize.” 

With lower tones and manifest feeling, he paints in 
few words, the picture of Charley’s wretched estate. 

“How easily we sin, when we let go our grip of the 
Good, and life begins to whirl without a governor; 
a dark and damning crime may follow. We do not 
think; we do not know, until at last, it is too late — 
too late I How dark the depths into which he is 
fallen, who has lived an upright, noble life, until, in 
one fatal hour, when others wrong him, he lets go the 
helm; blindly commits some crime, and is lost I 

“Unto God, out of these dark depths, must he cry, 
who alone can forgive his sin, and wash his heart’ as 
white as snovy, 

“These three things must he do : 

“He must confess his sin; 

“He must make restitution; 

“He must get back his hold on the Good again; 
and then shall he have peace.” 

While Brutus rode over to the railway, to ascertain 
the time that they could get away, Ruth and Charley 
sat down on the bench, under the great oak that 
shaded the church. 

“Poor Charley,” said she, you have a heavy burden.” 

“It will kill me!” 

“There is only one way through your trouble.” 

“I must go back ? ” 

“Yes. I am afraid from the firm impression in your 
mind, that what 1 thought was a horrible dream, may 
be a dreadful crime.” 

“/ knoiv I am a murderer 

“Not as bad as that, I hope. But you will go back i*” 

“Yes. But how can I say good-by to you ! ” 

“You shall not; I will go with you. At the arrest; 
at the trial; in the shadow of the prison, I will stay 
by you until we die ! ” 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


147 


They walked down through the fragrant hemlocks 
and over the ridges of mossy stones, with lagging 
steps. And as they watch the sun go down, they see 
the last bit of sunshine fading out of their lives ! 

They found Gustavus ranting to an audience of 
fishermen. They looked in at the door. Evidently, 
he had been giving the natives another lesson in 
punch-brewing. The revelry was at its height. Gus- 
tavus had just recited something that had received 
an encore from the tipsy fishermen, and began it over 
again. Charley turned away, the scene was painful, 
but he could not get beyond that powerful voice, as 
he rehearsed : 

“Ho ! pour me out the wine, 

Cried the Knight, gray and old. 

Pour me out the yellow wine. 

As thou ’rt told. 

***** **** 

Who poured me out that wine.? 

Cried the Knight, faint and old. 

Who poured that yellow wine. 

Icy cold.? 

O brother false of faith ! 

You have filled my cup of death ! ” 

Charley was completely broken down, and leaned 
heavily on the arm of Ruth, and wept. 

The next morning, Brutus begged hard of Ruth, to 
let him stay with them, but she refused, and the party 
broke up at the railway station, in the uplands. Gus- 
tavus and Brutus taking the train for the main road, 
and Charley and Ruth were left to their own plans. 

Sadly, they turned towards the lake that lay below 
them, and thought of their return trip and the sorrow 
and trial that lay beyond that blue horizon. 


f 


148 THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 

The train drew down to the water-tank, and waited. 
Gustavus hailed the newsboy. 

“I am hungry for the news ; I have not seen a paper 
for a week.” 

Gustavus first bought a cigar, and then a New York 
paper, and settling himself in his seat, felt as if he was 
back in civilization again. 

While he was lighting up, Brutus glanced indifer- 
ently at the news — for he was sore-hearted. Just as 
the train began to move out — to the great surprise of 
the smoker — he jumped up — caught him by the arm, 
crying : 

“Gome ! we must get off this train ! Here is some- 
thing Charley ought to see to-day.” 

“It’s too late ; she’s on the move ; you’ll break your 
neck ! ” 

“I’ll chance it ; come on.” 

He jumped, and spun around once or twice, and then 
rushed down the branch, waving his paper flag at Ruth 
and Charley, who were slowly walking down the road 
that led lakewards. Gustavus followed, muttering : 

“What could the boy have found in that paper, that 
has woke him up out of the ‘dumps,’ so quickly ^ ” 

. Charley and Ruth heard at last his frantic yell, and 
waited in the shade of a great oak. 

“What is the matter Brutus — is Gustavus hurt .? ” 

“No — I can’t get my breath — but it is there ! And 
he handed her a paper, pointing with his thumb so 
hard, that he tore through the octuple thickness of the 
New York Blanket. 

Ruth read : 

“Madam Zingara, the Prima Danseuse of the ‘Great 
Globe Circus,’ met with quite a thrilling adventure, in 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


149 


a western town. While amusing herself in the basket 
of M. Perot’s balloon, the ‘Queen of the Sky,’ in com- 
pany with the calliopist, who, by the way, is an es- 
caped lunatic; in some mysterious manner the anchor- 
rope came loose, and Mademoiselle went soaring to 
the clouds. After a few hours ride, she landed safely 
near a gypsy camp, where the balloon was secured in 
good order. Unfortuantly, before the return of Zin- 
gara, the poor lunatic was suspected of having mur- 
dered her, and a lawless mob sought to capture him, 
when some of his companions set sail with him in a 
small yacht, in a bad storm. And as they have not 
been heard from since there is much anxiety for their 
safety.” 

Thank God ! ” said Charley, “I am not a murderer.” 

“You won’t break up the party now,” said Brutus. 

“Wait, and we will all go to-morrow.” 

And it was settled, that after the boat was cared for 
and the fishermen paid for their trouble, the whole 
party should start at once for New York. 

Brutus was hilarious, but Charley and Ruth were 
sober. 

They could not pass the shadow of the prison, with- 
out some of the gloom clinging — ^just for a while. 

“Oh ! Ruth, Ruth; I have had a narrow escape ! I 
have passed very near to a dreadful crime. Will God 
forgive me ? Can you forgive me ? ” 

“Can you forget Charley, we have both been wound- 
ed, and you have spilled part of the wine from the 
Wooden Bottle, but much remains. You will go back 
into the world again, sobered by a certain knowledge 
of its dangers, and resolute to hold the Good; forgiv- 
ing as you have been forgiven ! ” 

“Yes,” said Charley, the wine is spilled ! You can 
never forget my sin and my shame ! ” 

“But.” she replied, “wounds will heal ! on other bat- 


150 THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 

tie fields you can win back your lost colors. Courage 
and hope shall go back with us.” 

The next morning they bade good-by to the yacht 
that had been the scene of so much toil and danger, 
and walked up through the hemlocks for the last time. 
As they passed the little stone church, Ruth proposed 
that they should enter and return thanks for their 
safe deliverance. Gustavus objected, that they had no 
votive offering; he had heard that the proper thing for 
shipwrecked mariners to do, was to hang models of 
their ships in the temple. 

“I have an offering,” said Ruth, and she held before 
them a card, on which was written : 

We have escaped^ by the goodness of God, from a 
great danger, into which we were drawn by the use of 
Wine. Now, in token of our gratitude, WE DO VOW, 
never to drink again, any intoxicant whatever. 

“I don’t need to sign that,” said Gustavus. 

“I do” said Charley. 

“I will,” said Brutus, who would do anything Ruth 
wished him, even to sailing back in that dreadful yacht. 

While Gustavus sat and smoked on the steps, the 
three entered the church and knelt in silence at the 
altar. And then the paper was signed by Ruth first, 
then Charley and Brutus last. And they flew like a 
flock of pigeons, to New York. 




CHAPTER XIL 


TH.E RETURN OF THE FUGITIVES. 



T WAS early morning when they 
left the cars ; only an occasional milk- 
man’s shrill cry; or the rattling 
wheels of a carriage from a fate par- 
ty, broke the silence of the deserted 
streets. 

“Now, for revenge ! ” said Charley. 
“I’ll wake up the old ‘mummy! ’ I’ll 
teach him to shut me up in an asy- 


“Charley! ” and Ruth took his arm, “you won’t go 
near Jacob Blackman now;, he cannot harm you any 
more.’' 

“He kidnapped me; he was at the bottom of all my 
trouble.” 

“But you will forgive, as you have been forgiven 

“Ruth, you are a saint; I know you are right; 


152 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


but it is hard for me to keep my hands off of him !” 

Here the party broke up. Brutus and Ruth, made 
their way over to Brooklyn, to St. Xavier’s Place, and 
Gustavus went to hunt up Bartolf 

It seemed like a dream to Charley, as he walked 
down Broadway; all his previous life in New York; 
an age had passed since he had been seized away. 

He remembered that some of his papers had been 
left in his drawer, at the shop; and he determined to 
slip up and get them, before the senior partner came 
down; he did not wish to meet him, for despite Ruth’s 
sermon, his hands itched to get hold of him. 

He waited a few moments for the porter; but he 
did not come; he then tried the door — it was already 
open. He tripped up stairs, and smiled, as he recalled 
the love-sick lawyer, ever perched on the* outer stairs. 
For a wonder the shop door was unlocked, the bell 
tinkled familiarly as he entered; he glanced at his 
enemy’s corner, his books were spread out as if he had 
but just left them. His black-weeded hat was on the 
pile of ledgers. 

“He has evidently discarded mourning, at last ! ” 
said Charley. 

He found his papers and in going out, met the por- 
ter, who leaned back to the wall, in open-eyed surprise. 

“Why, Charley ! I heard you had gone crazy and 
was locked up.” 

“Do I look like an insane man 

“Can’t say you do.” 

“There is a reward of fifty dollars for my re-capture. 
Do you want it ? ” 

“I guess not, not this morning.” 

Charley ran down the stairs, for he was hungry. The 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. I 53 

porter went into the shop. The next minute a hoarse 
cry echoed through the building: 

“M-u-r-d-e-r ! That crazyman has killed the senior 
partner ! ” 

For the porter had seen the old man lying there in 
his blood, still, in death, with the long, slender gimlet 
piercing his heart and bored fast into the crimsomed 
floor. 





CHAPTER XIII. 

A SLIGHT ERROR IN RECKONING. 

ACOB BLACKMAN heard of 
the escape of his workman, with 
alarm. He had not anticipated 
this danger ; but he comforted 
himself, that a large reward 
would regain the fugitive. 

He knew that Kate did not 
like him ; that if Charley was 
in New York, her heart would 
go out after him, when they were married. It was 
necessary for peace in the family, to keep him locked 
up. 

The business of the firm had increased, and the 
courtship had eaten into his time so much, of late, 
that it was necessary for Jacob to spend an evening 
occasionally at his books, in the old factory. The 
electric light from the neighboring street corner, 
shone through the cracked and dusty windows, light- 



THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


155 


ing- with a cold, metalic glare, the pipes and keys, the 
benches and floors, where it fell; and casting intense 
black shadows in the corners and behind great, solemn 
organs. One gas-jet only, furnished light enough for 
him to figure. With his pen in one hand, and his 
head down close to the book, he ran up interminable 
columns of figures. 

The night outside was dismal. All day, the wind 
had shaken the sashes and pelted with wet bullets the 
glass. 

Eleven — twelve, almost one o’clock, and the work 
is just ended, and it seemed to please the weary ac- 
countant. He rubbed his chin with glee : 

“There’s enough, if I never make a cent more, to 
keep me like a king. If I live, say ten — why, yes — I 
may say, twenty years. Seventy and ten is eighty, 
and ten is ninety, and five is ninety-five; twenty thou- 
sand per annum, for twenty-five years — and a fine 
house and a young wife ! You’re a smart one, Jacob ! 
if you do say it; who ought not to say it. You can 
enjoy yourself now, for money will do anything ! ” 

Once more, guileful Jacob figured that last problem 
and looked up. The electric light was ghastly pale 
to his eyes, so long used to the warm yellow gas-jet. 

Never before had the old place seemed so spectral- 
haunted with ghostly visions. He closed his books 
and looked to the door; in th^ large plate-glass, he 
saw a pale face pressed against the pane; then he 
thought he had sat all the evening, with the little cur- 
tain rolled up — he ought not to have done that ! He 
looked again; there was that face ! 

“It is an optical illusion,” he said as he went on ar- 
ranging his papers to depart. “I will look again, to 


156 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


satisfy myself that it is not there.” But there it was ! 

He sat for many minutes meditating. 

“Am I growing old.? am I breaking down, that I 
should be the prey of morbid fancies.? I will satisfy 
myself that there is nothing there.” He resolutely 
opened the door with one hand, and pushed the other 
out that he might feel the thin air, and undeceive a 
weakening sense, by one that was stronger. His hand 
touched a man, motionless as a statue, at first; then 
siowly he entered the factory pale and wet. For hours 
he had been standing, gazing at the busy accountant. 

“Ah! Kent; that was you who frightened me I An 
uncanny night, and a ghostly hour, for you to be at 
your post. You don’t think you would find Miss Kate 
about so late.?” 

“I want to see you; I have business of a pressing 
nature ” 

Yes, I know; the old business.” 

“But it is urgent.” 

“Yes, yes,” and Jacob began to figure again, for of 
late, he did not pay much attention to the love-sick 
lawyer. 

There was however, an unusual earnestness in his 
old story to-night, and a new chapter, for when he 
came to the end, and begged as of old, for only just 
one interview, that would set everything all right; he 
came nearer to the old man, who was unconcernedly 
figuring, as he asked: 

“Did you send word to Miss Kate, that she must 
never see me again, for fear I would shoot her.? Tell 
me!” 

Jacob laid down his pen, and taking his glasses in 
one hand, sent his chair whirling, and faced the lawyer. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


157 

“Kent, you are clear-gone daft over that girl. A 
little more of this nonsense, and they will shut' you 
up in a mad house. Now, take my advice : drop this 
and make off to Europe. I’ll ” 

“Don’t mock me, sir ! I mean business ! Did you 
tell Miss Kate.?” 

“Yes I did, Kent, and I certainly think you will 
shoot her.” 

“I thought you were my friend. What shall I do .? 
You must see her, and tell her, how I love her! I 
worship the ground she treads on ! ” 

“Kent, I am sorry for you; but you may as well 
know the truth : to morrow I shall marry Miss Kate 
myself ! ” 

“Don’t joke with me. If you knew how I loved 
that girl ” 

“It is no joke; I shall marry Miss Kate!” 

“You marry her.? You.? You old, smoked-and 
wrinkled serpent I You — you dried-up mummy! — you 
marry Miss Kate the darling of my heart — the rose 
of my garden — y-o-u ! ” sard t*he lawyer, with a hoarse, 
strange voice. 

“But I wish you well, Kent; you have served me 
more than one good turn. Come over to the wedding. 
It will be a quiet affair at the ‘Everglades,’ at five 

o’clock, sharp but what is the matter, Kent ! I 

never saw you look like that before.” 

“You.? You marry my bride.? Y-o-u!” he hissed. 

“What, Kent ! are you going to faint, or die .? 

“iY?; you are going to die! ” 

“What are you doing with that tool .?” 

****** 

Only a few moments later, J. Johnstone Kent, 


58 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


creeps out of the factory. There is a silly leer on his 
face and blood on his hands and clothes. While, in- 
side, the cold electric light through the street window, 
falls in a great, white square, from behind the organ. 
Across that line of light and shade, crawls a little stream 
of blood. In the black shadow lies the pulseless clay. 

Five and twenty years, he figured — there was a slight 
error in his book-keeping — it was five and twenty 
minutes ! 



1 



CHAPTER XIV. 

A FINAL TEST. 

RUTUS and Ruth made a sen- 
sation when they appeared in 
St. Xavier’s Place, just as Sim- 
eon’s family was at breakfast. 

“Why, Ruth ! Where have 
you been.? Your dress is spoiled 
and your complexion is ruined! 
It is well you stepped in early. 
How could you travel, in such 
a disgraceful attire I ” 

“I am hungry now; you just 
wait ; curb your curiosity; 
Brutus and I have been on a tour for our health, and 
our appetites have wondefully improved. You may 
draw for me some more money; my purse is as dilapi- 
dated as my dress.” 

“Ain’t you sorry your face is burned.? You can’t 
go to the wedding, to-night,” said Fred. 



i6o 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


“Oh, it is to-night, is it ? I am sorry for the tall, J. 
Johnstone Kent, Barrister &c.; he will be out of busi- 
ness now.” 

“I just told Simeon, it was sacrilege,” said Mrs. Bet. 
“There is no such thing, as love, any more ! ” 

Brutus rehearsed appropriate selections from TAe 
Diamond bedding, at the foot of the table : 

“But now. True love, you’re growing old — 
Bought and sold, with silver and gold. 

Like a house or a horse and carriage ! 
Midnight talks. 

Moonlight walks. 

The glance of the eye and sweetheart sigh. 

And shadowy haunts with no one by, 

I do not wish to disparage; 

But every kiss 

Has a price for its bliss. 

In the modern code of marriage; 

And the compact sweet 
Is not complete. 

Till the high contracting parties meet 
Before the altar of Mammon.’’ 

“I suppose you were asked to tie the knot, Sim- 
eon .? ” 

“Not a bit of it ! I mortally offended Kate, trying 
to break up the ill-assorted match.” 

After detailing the history of the past week, Ruth 
went up to sleep off the effects of her long ride; and 
Brutus sought doctor Brackett, to tell her their thrill- 
ing adventures. 

****** 

Piercer, the detective, who went over to “work up” 
the murder in the organ factory, reported promptly : 
that the escaped lunatic, who formerly was a work- 
man in the factory, and who was seen coming out, in 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


6l 


the early morning by the porter, was undoubtedly 
the man who did the deed. He formed this opinion 
from the fact it was the work of a lunatic. No sane 
murderer would have bored the gimlet into the floor 
after his victim was dead. 

Charley Clinton called at noon, as he had agreed, 
to dine at St. Xavier’s Place. He looked sober still, 
and his manner was constrained. He could not under- 
stand how Ruth could forgive him so easily. 

After dinner, in the shady side of the porch, they 
discussed the narrow escape of Sin and the danger 
Charley had incurred by his carelessness. 

“If Sin had landed in the lake, where would I have 
been to-day.^ a condemned prisoner ! A shift of the 
wind saved me!'' 

“You will know how to pity the prisoner and cap- 
tive,” said Simeon. 

“I telegraphed our safe arrival home,” said Ruth. 

Two men in semi-uniform, came down the Place, 
looking at the number, stopped, and one of them com- 
ing up the steps, asked : 

“Where can Charley Clinton be found 

“I am your man,” said Charley, turning pale. He 
stepped down, and in a moment called Ruth. 

“The paper was mistaken! I am arrested for mur- 
der! ” 

“Yes.” 

“Then Sin is dead.^” 

“I suppose so.” 

“I would not say anything to criminate me,” said 
one of the officers, kindly. 

“Oh ! what a cruel disappointment, Charley. But 
you remember what I told you, at ,the little church } 


i 62 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


I will do as I said; but it is 'hard to bear.” 

Simeon was more self-possessed and insisted that 
the men produce their authority. 

“It may be only a ruse to get him back to the asy- 
lum,” he said. 

“Not much of a ruse about that,” said the man, as 
he produced the warrant. 

It was Simeon’s turn to grow pale now. 

“You are on the wrong track. Ruth, he is suspected 
of the murder of Jacob Blackman ! ” 

“Is he dead ?” said a chorus of voices. 

“To-day was his wedding day ! ” 

“You do not think I did this dreadful crime, Ruth ” 

“I am ready to go, gentlemen; I am innocent of 
this charge ! ” 

The incident was of value to Charley, since it proved 
the fast loyalty of Ruth and her great love for him, 
when circumstances were clearly against him. But 
he was not detained long in custody, for at the inquest, 
new evidence was brought forward. 

J. Johnstone Kent had been brought in, a raving 
maniac, with blood-stained clothes. 

Medical evidence attested that the victim was slain 
about midnight, and Charley proved his arrival at 7 
A. M. 

Letters for Gustavus arrived the same day, from the 
circus. 

And so the last fringe of the dark shadow, passed 
from Charley’s life. 



CHAPTER XV. 

UNNEGOTIABLE PAPER. 



ATE RAINSWTRTH was 
finishing her cup of choco- 
late, when the postman 
brought her wedding present 
— a long white envelope con- 
taining a mortgage on the 
house in Florida street, for 
ten thousand dollars. She 
turned it over. 

“Well, Charley; I like you 
dearly, but I like this better! 
If I could only have had you both! ” 

Again her bell rang. A little, white note was shoved 


under the door. 

“More wedding presents.?” 

She read the hurried note sent up from the shop. 
“Dead!” she cried. “Dead! and this is our wed- 
ding day!” 

She clutched the mortgage and smiled. 



THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


164 

“Charley, Charley; I can have the mortgages, and 
you also! I wonder, how long I must be sorry, for 
that old crocodile, before I can call Charley back 
again. J*” 

Kate sat in that same window, where she had cipher- 
ed out her problem of life, on the musical ballad of 
“Auld Robin Gray,” — turning over the mortgages, 
when she was disturbed in her reverie, by the noise 
of contention, above which the voice of the janitress 
predominated: 

“She is never ‘at home,’ to you!” 

“Do but give her my name!” 

“It would not help you; she has given me orders 
never to admit you.” 

“But I will see her; it is a matter of life and death! ” 

Again, the struggling and hasty steps; and J. John- 
stone Kent strides in; his hands and clothes were 
stained with blood; his hair was matted to his fore- 
head with perspiration; his eyes were wild and blood- 
shot. He threw himself on his knees before Kate, 
who was frantic with fear. She tried to scream, but 
could not speak audibly. The janitress ran for help. 

“Tell me.” he cried, “with your own lips. I won’t 
believe any one else. Tell me, that it is a lie ! He 
said he would marry you to-day ! Oh, tell me that it 
is false ! You do love me, I know you love me ! How 
many times you have told me, and your letters to me — 
I read them all, last night, again — tell me, that you 
love me ! Oh, tell me, this is a lie ! I choked it on 
his false lips,” 

Kate tried to say: 

“Go away, you are a murderer,” but could not move 
her tongue for fright. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


165 


The poor wretch looked steadily at her. Suddenly, 
he put his hand to his forehead, rose to his feet, in a 
strange voice began : 

“Do you remember, Kate, that evening, when I 
drove you, with father’s horses down to the old ferry ? 
I see you now, as then, with deep-blue eyes and 
laughing lips, bare-headed, with your wavy wealth of 
auburn hair, free in the evening wind. And I was 
young and fair and rich. Ah, you ^oved me then ! 
Who has come between us because I am poor ?*’ 

“Stop ! I will not hear you,” said Kate. 

“You must hear me. I found out the old crocodile 
and I nailed him fast in his lair ! When I think what 
might have been; better we should die together than 
that. I would rather see you dead ! Yes; let us die 
together ! ” 

The janitress came in with an officer just in time to 
interrupt the lunatic’s homicidal impulses. 

Kate was greatly disturbed after his removal, as 
she again turned the mortgages in her hands. 

“They will be nice to have, but I paid a dear price 
for them. What did poor Kent mean ? I could not 
help the loss of his father’s fortune, and really, after 
that, I could not bring myself to like him. I sold 
Charley, but then, I can buy him back again. I wish 
this ugly murder had not happened, but it will only 
be a ‘nine days wonder’ and pass away, but these stay!'* 

She turned to the bundle of white sheets, with their 
bright seals, for consolation. 

It was just one week after the funeral, when she met 
Charley. She called on Ruth, who happened to be 
out, and while waiting, her old lover was shown into 
the same room. It was an embarrassing situation. 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


1 66 

Kate was cordial and forward as of old. Charley was 
icy cold. Kate brought up every battery to beat down 
this unexpected barrier, not hesitating to catalogue 
her mortgages — but still the grim stiffness. 

“Charley, must we be enemies 

“Not necessarily; neither need we be friends.” 

“Can you not forgive and forget.^” 

“I have forgiven, and I hope to forget.” 

Kate was alarmed at the firmness of his manner. 

She played her last card : 

“You once said you loved me ! ” 

“Yes, I said so; but I know now that I was sadly 
mistaken. Let me speak plainly. I have lived a 
long lifetime in the last month. In the rapid succes- 
sion of those bitter experiences, I have lost old friends 
and made new ones.” 

“And I hope, Charley, that you have learned, by 
your extended experience, that this idea of love with- 
out money, is as impractiable as an oyster without a 
shell; that of course, while we were both paupers, love 
could not be thought of But the case js vastly dif- 
ferent now, when I have enough ^nd to spare.” 

“Can you forget so soon, where that money came 
from } ” 

“That makes no difference; it will pay the butcher 
and the baker, just the same. I only acted prudently; 
every other woman of common sense, woulcj have done 
the same. The world is practical, and I hope you 
have learned now, that love is, after all, a question of 
dollars and cents.” 

“On the contrary, I have only now learned, what is 
true love. I have seen a love, that abideth through 
all changes of fortune; that no neglect, ingratitude, 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


167 

or forgetfulness could weaken; that reached down 
into the darkest shadows and followed me, even into 
the jaws of death! It were sacrilege to mention mon- 
ey, in the same breath, with such a love as I have 
found.” 

Kate started; a new idea occurred to her. 

“Oh, you love some one else 

“Yes; I love some one else, I only fancied you!” 

“Well, Charley, good-by now — but you will come 
to me. Money draws; money can do anything — 
When the romance fades you will need the money. 
Comeback tojne, and I will forget this little episode! 
It is a matter of business, you know.” And she bade 
him good morning. 

But her disappointments were not ended. She went 
to her lawyer and sold her mortgage and drew one 
hundred dollars of the proceeds, and she had spent 
half of it, before a messenger boy overtook her at the 
door and asked her to come back — and to be sure and 
bring the other mortgage with her. 

“I am sorry to tell you. Miss Rainswirth,” said Mr. 
Sheepskin, “that this instrument you sold me, is ir- 
regular — is in fact, — valueless, because of a flaw in 
making out the mortgage, and it seems that this flaw 
was intentional ! Let me see the other. Ah, just so 
— worthless also ! That Blackman was a crooked 
dealer.” . 

“You don’t mean to say that my mortgages are 
worthless .?” 

“Entirely worthless. Madam. You will please re- 
fund us one hundred dollars.” 

* * * * * * * * 


I 


l68 THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 

Moses Langis & Co. bought the old factory and con- 
tinued the business, after the death of Jacob Black- 
man, and Charley Clinton was made foreman. He 
worked hard to retreive his lost ground — while his 
love for Ruth grew stronger and deeper. 

He was waiting in a depot, in an inland city, for a 
train to take him farther on, in his quest for an im- 
portant order. As he walked nervously up and down 
the platform, gripsack in hand, he heard his name called 
from the open window of a “smoker.” 

“I say, Charley; you don’t know me.?” 

“Yes. You were the lion tamer, in the ‘Great Globe 
Show.’” 

“I thought once, you were lost in the lake.” 

“It was a fearful night. Where is the show .?” 

“Just going into Graysburgh. I am on my way to 
overtake it, now.” 

“How is Perot .?” 

“He is well.” 

“And Peter.?” 

“Albright.” 

“And Madam Zebra.?” 

“She grows no younger ! ” 

Charley hesitated, but after a pause, continued : 

“And Sin .? ” 

“Sin is dead ! ” 

“Dead .? ” 

“Yes. She would drink too much brandy; and she 
fell down the stairs, in the Central House, and we were 
compelled to leave her and take on a new hand. I 
heard to-day, that she died yesterday. 

A ragged roof of hillside, sharply pitched away 
and upwards towards a rainy sky. You must lift 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


169 


your eyes if you would see that, for it is out of the 
picture. The roof was thatched with coarse grass, 
foul weeds and patches of broken clay. 

It was a mean background of faded green and gray 
for two half-length pictures of two old men. They 
have sank in the narrow pit they have dug until they 
elbow the withered grass. With their polished skulls 
and blue blouses, they are not unlike two mammoth 
fungi growing from the sterile hillside. 

“Grayhairs” stood to the earthen wall, and brought 
his hand as a measuring-gauge from the sod to his 
trowser’s pocket. 

“Down it is, full plenty, for the loiks of a coffin with- 
out a case.” 

“It’s not for long t’will bide below.” 

“I’ll not pick the hard crust a bit more; t’will only 
make the more grubbing the night.” 

A shout came up, on the cold wind : 

“Come down ! Come down ! you old earthworms ! ” 

The men crawled out of their hole. 

The two “toadstools” grew, in less than a night, into 
two, hugh “fungi,” and rolled down the hill, towards 
a dilapidated wagon, that a mournful looking horse 
had refused to draw farther up the roadless hillside. 

The old men seize from under a carpet, the long, 
black chest, and scrambling upward, throw their bur- 
den down, on the little hummock of red clay. 

“Grayhairs” lays his spade across the chest, for a 
measure. 

They re-enter the pit and scrape down the sides. 

“Do you want a dollar.?” 

There was no surprise in old Grayhairs’” face, as he 
leaned back against the earthern wall and looked up- 


I/O 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


ward at a young man, who held the coin in his gloved 
hand; he was dressed in black, in faultless taste. 

“Open ! ” he said and dropped the silver into the 
pit. Without disturbing his comrade, “Grayhairs” 
leaned out of the grave, and with his muddy spade, 
struck the coffin sharply, and prying off the lid, re- 
sumed his work. 

The yellow pine framed a confused mass of dishev- 
eled, black hair, against a round, white face and red 
dress. 

The man rubbed his eyes in sad surprise. 

When the head is severed from the body, and not 
replaced with some attention to artistic anatomy, the 
effect is startling, until the red “necklace” is discerned. 

“T ’was the coroner’s surgeon, sir. She fell and 
broke her back, and did not send for a doctor before 
she died, and they had a ’quest, to find out why she 
died.” 

The lid is replaced; the coffin lowered a few feet; 
it wedges fast; the men stamp it down a little farther. 

“T ’ will do till night.” 

A little hill of earth is heaped upon it, and the organ 
builder stumbles away over the sunken pits, murmur- 
ing: 

“Alas ! poor Sin ! ” 

Charley Clinton draiik with gratitude, what was left 
of the Wine in the Wooden Bottle, and was healed of 
his wounds, in his first heat of life’s battle; but he never 
forgot, how much he spilled, by his criminal rashness. 

Sometimes, he remembered with a pang, that Ruth 
could not bring to him, as much respect and honor, 
as she might have done, had she never known of his 
defection. Yet, her faithful love, in spite of his errors, 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. I/I 

had a tenderness and force for him that it otherwise 
would not have had. 

Her unselfishness was infectious. 

The first fruits of Ruth’s tutorship was an enterprise 
he set on foot, to find the parents of Brutus and Ethel. 
Brutus was so sensitive in the matter of his lowly 
origin, that much strategy was necessary to obtain 
their location. But, after a long correspondence, a 
meeting was arranged, where a series of intricate tests 
were to be brought forward, to identify the relation- 
ship of doctor Ethel to the wife of the village black- 
smith; but the mother upset them all, by picking out 
her daughter from a group of ladies; as easily as if it 
were yesterday she rolled under the cars; by those 
birth-marks, that time cannot wash out. 

Many good attempts he made to lift up Gustavus, 
but the poor fellow never succeeded in keeping his 
foothold, and after a few months, drifted back into 
h ; old place with the “Great Globe Show.” 

******** 

When Charley and Ruth were married Simeon notic- 
ed that the wedding-ring was carved with a curious 
device : a bottle with an arrow shot through it. 

That same day, a steamer put out to sea. At the 
going down of the sun, Ruth and her husband sat on 
the deck. The din of the street and the endless r6ar 
of traffic were now far behind them. The silence was 
unbroken, save by the great vessel, as she steadily 
ploughed her way eastward, towards the night. A 
long line of smoke stretched from her pipes, widening 
out, until the western horizon was darkened with a 
veil of sooty clouds. But before them, above the blue 
mists that hung over the silent waters, were the rose- 


1/2 


THE WOODEN BOTTLE. 


ate reflections of the twilight-skies. And their future 
is yonder, in the heart of that infinite glory ! 

The golden depths of mystic splendor opened to re- 
ceive the on-coming vessel and shut it out of sight. 
And as the gray dome closed after them, there came 
whispering voices from those gates of pearl : 

“Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden and I will give you rest.” 


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